Brazen Bibliophage

Failure has traditionally been the scariest f-word in my book. Combine it with that other frightening f-word, fear, and you have the plot line of my life up until about seven months ago.

I have lived in fear of failure since I can remember. Even as a small child who was reading at a much higher level than my peers. Even in high school when I was consistently taking the hardest classes and still bringing home As. Hell, I dropped an AP class because it wasn’t challenging enough. Yet I worried constantly about failing.

But not anymore.

Realizing that I no longer viewed failure as the end of everything was sudden. And I can’t exactly explain how I got to this point, but I know where it began — with not completing my 2018 Goodreads reading challenge.

I’d finished the challenge the previous three years, but not easily. I’d have to go on massive reading sprees during the last quarter of the year to meet the goal. Which meant that reading sometimes became a chore instead of a pleasure because I was reading to increase my book count and stressing about my pace.

Last year, I simply couldn’t binge read. At all.

I spent most of the year working two jobs —  part of it working three — sprinkled with some freelance work. At the same time, I half-heartedly applied for full-time jobs. I wanted the financial stability of full-time work so badly that I couldn’t see how to get there. I was blinded by desperation.

I was also desperate to get out of my living situation. My anxiety was so bad that I frequently couldn’t concentrate enough to read a couple of paragraphs, let alone an entire chapter. I was lodged deeply in scarcity mode. I didn’t have enough space, time, money, concentration, energy — I wasn’t enough.

Then I went full-time at my job. I suddenly had a little bit more time of my own. I could see a way out of my living situation. And then I found a way out of my living situation in November.

I finally had space. I had more time. I could concentrate. I had all my books in one location. But it was too late in the year. Only a little over a month was left to read about 20 books.

I focused on unpacking and enjoying my space (boy, did I miss cooking!). I discovered I could change my mindset and drastically alter my life, and devoted swaths of time to doing so. And in that process, I discovered why failure is great.

Failing to finish my 2018 reading challenge was a result of succeeding in so many other areas of life — areas that were much more important during this time. I had unwittingly reached two major goals; ones that required a lot more of my time and energy than reading does, and that I needed much more than I needed to reach a reading goal.

And it wasn’t really a failure. I still read a lot of books — 87 to be exact. Far more than most people read in a year. And reading is an ongoing goal, one that I keep it constantly, which means that reading is never a failure. Reading is about the journey, not the destination. It’s a lifetime activity, not a stopping point. Books don’t box you in, they ride along with you as constant companions.