I am obsessed with New Year’s resolutions.
I spend weeks crafting the list that will shape the following year. I put things on the list, I scratch things off, but I am always realistic about what I can and cannot do.
Thing I can do: Be a better vegetarian (no cheating with pepperoni pizza)
Thing I can’t do: Lose 50 pounds, solve world hunger, run a marathon.
One of the most important resolutions that I made was to read 10 books in 2011.
I fist-pumped silently to myself when I finished my first book of the year, “Room” by Emma Donoghue.
Then I moved on to my second book, “Cleopatra” by Stacy Schiff. I was read it feverishly on the plane ride from Austin to Boston. As soon as I landed I tossed it on my bookshelf and haven’t looked at it in three weeks.
Clearly, I’m totally dedicated to my goal.
Literature has always been a passion of mine. My mother always jokes that as a child, at Toy-R-Us I went for the books instead of the toys. But now 21 years old, my attention span is about 10 minutes, so reading a WHOLE book is exponentially difficult.
For my new writing project, I’m working on a travel story about Walden Pond, and how the message of “Walden” by Henry David Thoreau transcends its time period and has legions of fans to this day.
I’m trying to figure out the “how” and “why” of it, and of course, that involves reading “Walden” myself.
Hopefully, I won’t treat it like I treated poor “Cleopatra.”
Its current status: still in the mailing envelope it came in.