A brand new year. A fresh start. A clean slate. So much optimism, bright eyes looking towards a future filled with promise.
And also the pressure to get it all right.
I’m not talking about the pressures to be a better you, to run more, eat less, be mindful, bold, live in the moment more, become purple or make friends with a Martian.
Although all of those pressures will inevitably set in when you realize Martians don’t want to be friends with humans no matter how many baked goods you bring.
I’m talking about the bookish pressure to get that one book read! To make a start on your challenges and cross books off any list you have going, to get that ‘1 Book Read!’ badge on the 50 Book Pledge and to see a % of progress on your Goodreads goal.
The pressure to choose a GREAT first book. To choose one that will be the measuring stick for all reads afterwards. To choose that one perfect book that will obviously set the tone for your magnificent reading year.
Is this just me?
I spent the entire first day of 2016 alternating between not moving in bed watching The Gilmore Girls and sticking my head down my toilet. So Day 1 was a write off. Day 2 I tucked into Kristin Hannah’s The Nightingale but couldn’t seem to get very far. Day 3 I barely read at all. So now here we sit, a handful of days into the new year and I still haven’t read a single book.
I wasn’t actually even sure that I was going to like The Nightingale until last night. I’ve been told that I can’t read the last bit in public. So I brought a second book with me in case I get to that point on the bus. But I also REALLY want to have read at least one book this year. JUST ONE.
I cannot be starting my new reading year, alternating between two books and finishing neither.
It’s driving me completely insane and it’s a problem completely of my own making.
And now I’ve told you all about it.