Opening up the old laptop I was ready to start this on a somewhat dour trip. Boredom. Doing the same thing over and over again. Expecting different results. Insanity. Yadda Yadda. But if I am one thing, it’s consistent. So as my close personal friend Sheryl Sandberg would advise — i’m leaning the fuck in for another one.
I’ve got to say for a guy who has been patting himself on the back publicly for all of the reading he does each year for a bit now — it seems like a lot more people are joining me on garbage mountain. More power. But, gosh, if I see another stack of books on any social media platform with caption “this years favorites” I think i’m going to hurl.
Seeing yourself reflected back at you is never an enjoyable experience. Which makes me want to disappear completely. But, I. Must. Soldier. On. If not for you, for me.
I used to think a person could change, that humans were this sort of malleable mass of energy. That our minds could be opened by hearing a song that truly fucked, by watching a movie that was like nothing you had ever seen before, or reading a book that could supplant bad thoughts with good ones.
Wishful thinking. Our desire to be different pushes us to place our bets then shuffle the cards in our favor — to be the hero of our own story. We consume works as trophies. Eating the world. This urge doesn’t fundamentally change us or even satiate our drive for originality. We are still that same person — scared and alone, looking for love.
So what do we do it all for? I’m not talking about the meaning of it all. Boring. Why talk about what we watched or what we read at all? Like consuming is some all-knowing, righteous act. To better ourselves? Or to fill the big super-unknown of time and space? To enlighten the uninitiated — the non-seekers? Or to signal our learnedness and breezy intelligence? Maybe a smattering of each. The latter if we are keeping it fully one hundred.
Maybe the point is to fill our lives with beauty. Babies. Puppies. Flowers. Sunrise. Sunset. Poetry and literature. And to encourage the next generation to fall in love with beauty and to make art of their own. And the wheel goes round and round. Maybe. Just maybe.
I hope you stay inspired. Chase the spark. If you haven’t found it. You know, the moments of solitude where it all clicks in place. Keep looking. This is just another list of books that some guy who doesn’t know much read this year. Proceed with caution.
I will keep filling my cup with beauty, love, pain, and heartbreak in hopes of one day creating something lasting and beautiful. Maybe i’ll even inspire someone to get out what they’ve been holding in. And the big wheel keeps on turning.
If you have any questions, or want to talk about any of these titles, leave a comment and we can have a great conversation. Peace and love to you all.
From the archives: 2020 Reading List / 2021 Reading List
not for nothing: when i read this, the first book on the list was sitting on my bedside table, waiting for me to crack it open.
Mesmerizing words. I keep reading them so I haven’t even gotten to the book list. You truly are one of my favorite writers. I still have t found all of the words I want to say so I’ll just finish this with a thank you.