This year hasn’t been good in any terms. I picked up a few books, but my mind was somewhere so far away that I could barely remember anything even after finishing the book. I was reading for the sake of reading. I wasn’t curious about anything, and there was this fear of breaking the habit of reading which made everything worse. I had to force myself to find good books, which I did find, but I could barely hold any enthusiasm regarding it after going through some of the pages, and I still forced myself to read them. It’s not something that I have done or experienced previously, so I went through this phase of overthinking which was extremely inconvenient.
If I had to pick three books that I liked, they’d be -
- The Emperor of All Maladies - A Biography of Cancer – Siddhartha Mukherjee
- Love’s Executioner and Other Tales of Psychotherapy – Irvin D. Yalom
- The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog: And Other Stories from a Child Psychiatrist’s Notebook – Bruce D. Perry & Maia Szalavitz
I’ve been through these books in the past, but it’s the first time I read them cover to cover. There were so many others, but I barely remember them and at this point in time, it’s not important. I know this year wasn’t like the lockdown and neither was I in the same state as I was during the lockdown, so it’s all okay. One thing that surprises me is how I’m blaming “reading” and using books to represent the state of the year 2022, but since writing helps clear my thoughts, I’m going to do it without worrying about making too much sense. I don’t write for anyone and I don’t write to anyone so this place is all I have where I can be realistic and contradictory at the same time.
The title of this blog post is “Life & Year of Books”, and I’ve covered the latter part, so I’d like to proceed with some whining and venting although I know I’m not going to write anything profound, but as I’m typing, I’m recounting all the things that happened. Life can take unexpected turns pretty easily, and if you’re not prepared, or even if you are prepared, in unfortunate times, you find yourself swept away by currents you thought weren’t strong enough to carry you and break a few of your ribs along the way.
This year turned out to be rough and full of hurdles. My mind was everywhere except where it should have been. There were days when I felt paralyzed, unable to focus on anything that truly mattered. Other times, I was consumed by extremely odd feelings, thinking endlessly about things beyond my control. There’s going to be a lot of regret in the future when I look back on this time, but hopefully I’ll be resilient enough to manage everything as I have before. I have to keep reminding myself that even the darkest phases don’t last forever, and there will be better days ahead if I can just persevere. It’s cliche, I know, but I’m the only one who can uplift myself.
I’d like to end this post here. Initially I wanted to write much more, but as I’m proceeding, there seems to be a pointlessness in expressing the thoughts I have and feelings I’ve been struggling with. Sometimes, words never quite say everything I’m feeling inside. And maybe that’s okay - some things are better left unsaid, not looked at too closely. But I do feel a little better having gotten at least some of it out on the page, even if it doesn’t make total sense.
Happy New Year.