I always struggled to convince myself that reading for pleasure was actually pleasurable.
Lemony Snicket provided plenty of entertainment as a kid, and I tore through John Grisham thrillers in high school. Novels fell by the wayside in college once professors assigned enough reading for several lifetimes. I graduated and immediately leapt into a career slinging words for a living—and too often found myself itching to escape them in my downtime.
My love of physical books never wavered, though, and it wasn’t until I forced myself to sit down and read Ken Jennings’ Maphead last year that I finally started to enjoy reading for the sake of reading again.
I set a modest goal for 2024: read one book per month.
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