My Goodreads account says I read around one book a week (about 52 each year). That reading consists largely of business books, self-help tomes, and biographies. I'm something of a hoarder of the knowledge and opinions of my favorite journalists, professors, cultural commentators, and scribes.
The shadow side of consuming so much of other people's opinions can be losing track of my own. Even more problematic, I sometimes forget to stop experimenting for a moment to notice how my life is going without any need to try a new habit or change my mindset. Oh, and did I mention that novels and their lack of direct attachment to one of my life goals have a tendency to feel like an indulgent use of my all-too-limited reading time?
That's why, in my early thirties, I began taking an annual and intentional break from non-fiction to sit in the sun with a novel (or, let's get real since I'm in Florida, I'm much more likely to be sitting in my air-conditioned bedroom).
Each year, from Memorial Day through Labor Day, I only read novels and memoirs.
Because so many of the things I read the rest of the year are deeply steeped in the larger business and political culture, I have narrowed from that genre even further, only to read novels written by women. I usually read a dozen or so novels and memoirs during this time. By fall, my perspective on the world, my place in it, and what I have to offer shifts profoundly.
In avoiding the advice of others, I often find that I rediscover my own inner compass.
Of course, novels have their own agendas. Every story has a moral of some sort it's trying to convey, even (and maybe especially) when the storyteller didn't consciously write it that way. I've come to believe that the shifts we make through stories are more resonate and longer lasting than those we make consciously when we're intentionally hunting down information, help, or full-on transformation. In a story, especially a good novel, there's space to move around in our own imagination. The minor details are our own to fill in.
A novel makes space for you in its world in the way that other types of writing cannot.
This summer, I've already made my way through two books in the same series, The Atlas Six and The Atlas Paradox (Affiliate Links). As often happens with a trilogy, the first is more compelling than the second. The third comes out in 2024, so a final take on the series will likely not come until next year's summer reading for me. This sort of reading feels a little frivolous, and that frivolity is exactly the point. It's a break from all that feels so heavy in my work, my family, and my almost 40 life transitions right now.
The space of this summer's reading brought me back to this place: The writing of a personal blog which I have avoided for nearly ten years (more on that in another post).
Maybe your summer break looks like a reading reset. Maybe something else. Whatever it is, the long and sunny days are a fantastic time to create a little more space. You just might find your magic waiting for you in the margins you create.
The shadow side of consuming so much of other people's opinions can be losing track of my own. Even more problematic, I sometimes forget to stop experimenting for a moment to notice how my life is going without any need to try a new habit or change my mindset. Oh, and did I mention that novels and their lack of direct attachment to one of my life goals have a tendency to feel like an indulgent use of my all-too-limited reading time?
That's why, in my early thirties, I began taking an annual and intentional break from non-fiction to sit in the sun with a novel (or, let's get real since I'm in Florida, I'm much more likely to be sitting in my air-conditioned bedroom).
Each year, from Memorial Day through Labor Day, I only read novels and memoirs.
Because so many of the things I read the rest of the year are deeply steeped in the larger business and political culture, I have narrowed from that genre even further, only to read novels written by women. I usually read a dozen or so novels and memoirs during this time. By fall, my perspective on the world, my place in it, and what I have to offer shifts profoundly.
In avoiding the advice of others, I often find that I rediscover my own inner compass.
Of course, novels have their own agendas. Every story has a moral of some sort it's trying to convey, even (and maybe especially) when the storyteller didn't consciously write it that way. I've come to believe that the shifts we make through stories are more resonate and longer lasting than those we make consciously when we're intentionally hunting down information, help, or full-on transformation. In a story, especially a good novel, there's space to move around in our own imagination. The minor details are our own to fill in.
A novel makes space for you in its world in the way that other types of writing cannot.
This summer, I've already made my way through two books in the same series, The Atlas Six and The Atlas Paradox (Affiliate Links). As often happens with a trilogy, the first is more compelling than the second. The third comes out in 2024, so a final take on the series will likely not come until next year's summer reading for me. This sort of reading feels a little frivolous, and that frivolity is exactly the point. It's a break from all that feels so heavy in my work, my family, and my almost 40 life transitions right now.
The space of this summer's reading brought me back to this place: The writing of a personal blog which I have avoided for nearly ten years (more on that in another post).
Maybe your summer break looks like a reading reset. Maybe something else. Whatever it is, the long and sunny days are a fantastic time to create a little more space. You just might find your magic waiting for you in the margins you create.
Lourenia (Renia) Carsillo
Chief Strategist & Founder
Realign Consulting
Chief Strategist & Founder
Realign Consulting