Recovering from being a chronic book-buyer
I fall into traps. Timebombs. Deadlines of my own commitment, subsequent failure, topped off disappointment of my own creation. This revolves around not finishing my books. I was a chronic book buyer. My family knows it all too well, my friends and partner do, too. The thought of how much money I’ve spent on unfinished books over the years does eat at me.
I am a reader, but I’m sporadic. Picking up a book of a new thing I’m interested in represents this authenticity of my new interest. Once, I wanted to learn some concepts in physics, so I committed myself to buying physics books to go from being a guy-who-has-an-interest-in-physics to a guy-who-knows-about-physics.
I bought Seven Brief Lessons on Physics and The Quantum Universe: Everything That Can Happen Does Happen, and I read them… a bit. About half-way each book. It’s a pattern I’ve repeated for a myriad of different topics.
To reiterate; buying a book on a fleeting interest of a topic feels like authenticity, a physical representation of interest, but it can quickly become a trap in something you’re not all that committed to. Guilt ensues.
The simple conclusion to this problem is getting a library card.