I was a compulsive finisher—until I gave myself the permission to quit books I wasn’t enjoying.
We get too carried away in trying to tick off boxes and marking things as finished. As a principle, I didn’t tend to leave books midway. I considered it as a commitment to follow through to the last page. I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine, I’ll hold her hand cover to cover and beyond.
Too romantic, eh? Nah. A strange parallel clicked in place once when I was thinking about this. This commitment had the same levels of toxicity as following through with a bad relationship for 5 years. It’s bad for you, and you know it, and yet somehow for a multitude of reasons, you can’t seem to drop it.
A major part of the reason being societal pressure in one form or the other. Society-induced pressure that we put on ourselves. Of having an impressive number of books to have been read. Of being able to put a number on your Goodreads profile.
Life is too short to drag yourself through mediocre reads anyway.
Just over ten years after that fall in Paris, I finally stopped being a compulsive book finisher. I’d learned two things in particular that helped me quit. One, I realized literally NO ONE cares if I give up on a book except me. (And maybe the author, if I told them, which I wouldn’t do because…no.) Two, I realized that I’m going to die.
Jake Wilder, here
(Will continue the thoughts of this one in the next one about reading less, but reading better, whenever that comes along. Until then, see ya and ciao!)
Further reading:
Why You Should Quit As Many Books As You Finish by Rosie Leizrowice, here.
It’s Okay to Give Up on Mediocre Books Because We’re All Going to Die by Janet Frishberg, here.
No One Cares How Many Books You Read by Jake Wilder, here.
Dhriti Patel 