Every few years, something compels me to take another stab at blogging. With the birth of my second child, I face once again intimations of my own mortality and the intersection of two trains of thought on that mortality:
- I keep a Goodreads account to track the books I’ve read. Sometimes I post reviews, sometimes just ratings. Over the last few years, I’ve averaged around 44 books per year.
- A few years ago, a morbid impulse sent me to the US Census life expectancy tables to look at the number of years, statistically speaking, that I have left.
These two numbers together birthed the concept of 1600 books–the idea that I have a finite number of books left to read. That concept helped me to learn to put books down. If I wasn’t enjoying it within 50 pages, I walked away. After all, there were only so many left.
This year, I looked at those numbers again. Based on my advancing age and slowing rate of reading, I came up with the figure of 1440 books–or ten gross of books. As I contemplated resurrecting this blog, that seemed like a solid basis for blog posts.
I plan to do sporadic, relatively short posts about the books that I’m reading and the thoughts about life that they spark in me. I can’t promise to be regular or even interesting, but I will be honest.