I’ve been spending my days on the sofa lately as I’m trying to get rid of some persistent infection. It’s driving me crazy, I’m really not good at being sick. On the first day I thought, at least I’ll read a lot in next few days and have a good start to my reading year. And I’ve been reading, just not as much as I was expecting to, as I’m also easily distracted by my thoughts and the damned phone.
At the beginning of October, last year I’ve read Tolstoy and the Purple Chair by Nina Sankovitch about her year of reading one book per day. And I can’t stop thinking about it since then. And now, when I’m sitting on the sofa all day long, I’m thinking about it even more. Not that it’s possible for me to read this much, but I can’t get it out of my mind. Maybe it’s not even the one book a day thing, but being so much into something that you give it all your attention. I mean, sure, she didn’t have a job at the time, but she had two small children and other responsibilities. She couldn’t just sit and read all day long. So why do I find this idea so difficult?
I think that what I find really attractive in this idea is not so much reading so many books, but having a project and sticking to it for so long. I feel like I need a project and one that will ask some sacrifices from me. A project that is doable, but not necessarily easy. Something I need to stretch myself a little bit to achieve it. I need something that will occupy my mind, that will pull me in and hold my focus.
It would me much easier if I had an external must to do this, but I want to find this in me. I want to be this person who decides that she wants to do something and does it, without needing someone to tell her to.
I can do this, right?