Goodreads, the self-professed “social network for book nerds,” sent me an email recently encouraging me to sign up for their 2016 Reading Challenge. This involves setting a goal for yourself to read a certain number of books during the course of the year. Simple enough, I figured. So I followed the link, gave it a few seconds’ thought, and settled on a personal goal.
I’ll read 12 books in 2016, I decided.
And then I saw my friends’ goals and felt stupid. 50 books, Robyn? Nice. 55 for you, Jess? Overachiever. And Alice: seriously? You’re planning on reading 100 books this year?! Way to make me feel inadequate, guys.
Twelve. Jesus. Way to commit yourself, Mark! One a month? Hardly pushing any boundaries there. And I consider myself an avid reader.
But, when the bulk of your reading occurs in bed, when your eyes are already growing droopy and you have to reread the same paragraph three times because you keep nodding off mid-sentence, it’s tough to make inroads. Honestly, even twelve books might be a stretch.
A few nights ago, we were in bed before 8 PM. I don’t think that’s ever happened before! Tara nodded right off, but I figured, great! I can make a real dent in the book I’m reading tonight! Right after I check my Instagram feed…
But Instagram led to Words With Friends (my move!) and then to Facebook (I wonder what happened on this day six years ago!) and before long I had tumbled down the social media rabbit hole, sixty minutes had passed, and my eyes were too heavy to absorb more than a few pages of the book.
See my dilemma here?
I really need to set some goals with the phone. Make it off-limits the minute I climb into bed. Actually, I think I’ll make that a belated New Year’s resolution. Could you guys please hold me accountable? If that means barging into the bedroom at
7:58 10:00 and making sure I don’t have my phone clutched in my hand, so be it.
Thank you in advance, and please ignore the pile of laundry next to the closet.
Categories: Daily Life