Sooooooooooooooooooooooo, it is March 27th and I completed my yearly reading goal.
Not that I expected to only read 119 books this year. I just did not expect to read 119 books in 3 months.
After all, it took all of 2017 for me to read 119 books. Here I am two years later already there.
Or in other words, the nearly 31,000 pages I’ve covered means I’m halfway through the total number of pages I read last year (61,000) and last year’s page numbers included textbooks. This year so far does not.
What does it all mean?
Well, it goes back to something I posted about last year. The more my life feels out of control, the more I default to books. I can control books. I can control what I read, how fast I read, and how quickly I achieve my reading goals. Achieving a goal I set for myself can feel like a little pocket of serenity amidst the unstable whirlwind of life.
I often feel like I lack control here in Thailand. And I’m learning to embrace it. Sort of. Slowly. In the meantime, I read.
Now the real question, do I set another goal? (I mean, obviously I’m aiming for 365 now. But do I make it official? I feel like no.)