I love to read. I love to journal. But for some reason, these two things have not merged enough in me for me to successfully maintain a commonplace book. Oh, I have tried! designated pages in my journals or a space in my planners to write quotations, or list down what I plan to read or have actually read, even dedicated a whole notebook just for books I’ve read, but these get used once or twice then nothing. I always end up writing my finished books in my phone’s notes app: title, author, date and time finished – that’s pretty much the only thing I’ve naturally stayed consistent with since 2017 in terms of fully documenting my reading. This method was sufficiently functional for me when I want to trace my readings and compare my numbers from the years before. This is how I know that for the past three years I’m averaging about 14-15 books annually, and for the three years before my average was 36 books. (The plunge is in direct correlation with my starting a career, so I don’t really regret my numbers.)
When I read, I just like to read. Reading is the only activity in which I am thoroughly focused and single-minded, even for only a few minutes at a time. When I learned about Flow (a concept coined by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, which I first discovered through Cal Newport’s Deep Work) I knew that I have achieved this state of being and often when I’m reading a really good book. And that’s probably why I pursue reading with such eagerness – it is such a high being lost in a page, getting pulled into different worlds through words configured by the genius of a worthy author’s imagination. And because I love to read, I sneak in reading with my meals, in the toilet (sorry, I had to include this because I feel like, lately, half my reading time is done here), in lines, with my coffee. I barely stop to make a mark, much less write an extract. If something is particularly striking, I do take a picture to save for later… either to post or copy it in my planner or journal.
I have come to accept that this is my peculiarity and that I shouldn’t try to be what I’m not, no matter how much I envy other people’s commonplace books or book journals. If it doesn’t work for me, I shouldn’t force myself. It does not lessen how much I enjoy a book if I don’t write about it, and maybe I enjoy it more without the pressure of an added activity to it. In fact, I love reading so much that I barely stop to think. And no sooner am I finished with a book that I grab the next one on the shelf, if I haven’t already started it (I’m usually in the middle of two books at a time for different moods or time of day, e.g. a novel to go with my non-fiction). I’ve always argued (with myself) that I’ve fully imbibed everything by simply focusing on this one single activity and therefore don’t need to write about it. There are some things very much a part of you, or comes naturally to you, that just doing the activity, reading in this case, is enough in itself. And maybe it is, if I’m honest.
But in the spirit of mindfulness, I also think that there is something to pausing in between books… or pages, or paragraphs, or sentences, or words. Perhaps there is still more to be mined from the experience of reading a particular book by reflecting on it and writing about it. I may not change my reading habits entirely. There is still something in being lost in a book you forget to think, or write about it, or pause. But maybe there’s value to actively reflecting on and reviewing a book, or taking time to pause and extract quotations. Maybe there’s value to reading slowly, than trying to reading more and more.
Since I am on a quest to living a slow, intentional life, this may be one of the best ways to start. This year, I am experimenting on reading more mindfully by having a journal for commonplacing or reflections, by documenting my readings and writing essays about my most important reads or impressions. I don’t know exactly where this will lead me, but I have vowed to start after so many years of attempting to revive this blog for this purpose. I will start before I talk (doubt) myself out of it by saying that there are better writers out there who’ll make more worthy reading for their reviews. This is more for me. And if you find yourself in the same journey, perhaps this will also resonate with you.
Again, this is an experiment. After dedicating this year to actively documenting my readings, I reserve the right to abandon this pursuit if I find that it’s not for me. If it does not improve my reading experience, or my love for books, or if it does not serve any purpose, there’s no point in hanging to it. There’s no need to pursue an activity just because it looks attractive on others. I’ll settle for ogling their pages on their social media feeds and move on with my life and only journal as the need or desire arises.
Come, join me in the struggle. 😉
a book diary 