The list had categories, deadlines and a count at the top. It also contained several books I no longer wanted to read. They remained there because removing them felt suspiciously like abandoning a commitment, although nobody had asked me to make the commitment in the first place.
Leisure had acquired a project manager. Unfortunately, the manager was me.
I like a reading list when it helps me remember a recommendation. I like having a few possible next books when I finish one. The difficulty begins when a possibility becomes a debt and curiosity becomes a queue I am ashamed not to be clearing quickly enough.
Last week I made a smaller list. Books I am curious about now. Books a friend wants to discuss. A blank space for something encountered unexpectedly. The old list still exists, but it has been demoted from supervisor to storage cupboard.
I also stopped preserving every recommendation forever. A conversation can introduce a possibility without creating an obligation. If the interest fades, I can let it fade. I do not need to complete an entire historical record of who suggested what to prove that I care about books.
The blank space has been surprisingly helpful. A secondhand paperback arrived with an appealing first page and no place in the original plan. I read it. The planned book waited. No damage occurred to the republic of literature.
There are times when a structured reading project is exactly what I want. Then I choose one deliberately. I just do not want every pleasant activity quietly converted into another damn job because a neat list makes its demands look respectable.
A thought worth keeping?
