It took me just about a year and a half to read 50 books.

I know because when I reached 400 I blogged about how that was such a paltry number for a life of reading. I still feel that way about 450.

In fact, I feel like I could probably lower my number to around 150, or less. Because almost everything I read before a three or four ago was complete garbage, and I can’t even remember anything I read more than ten years ago, and many of the books on that list are just there because I know I read them, even if I can’t remember any of the contents.

I would like to be able to read 50 books per year. That seems like a reasonable goal. Really, all that should take is an hour or two of reading per day, since most books seem to take 6-8 hours to read.

But easier said than done. The only reason I was able to read as many books as I did this year is because many of them were very short. And also several of them were trash, which is very easy to read quickly.

But why do I worry about quantity anyway? I guess, because time feels so short. Every year goes by quicker. And also every year the books I read get better and better and there are so many I’ve never even heard of which are probably still even better… It makes me happy and sad at the same time to think of the never ending supply of amazing books to read.


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