I had a teacher in high school that transformed my life. It wasn’t an overarching life lesson or advice I wasn’t mature enough to realize on my own. Instead, he simply told me that if I found myself reading a book that I lost interest in, that was okay; stop reading. That’s given me the freedom to put books down nearly without guilt. I still have some guilt over books like One Few Over the Cuckoo’s Nest because there are books that I feel like you are judged for not finding interesting or not appreciating or, blah, blah, blah. So I still have some of that. But books are no different than food or clothing or music in that everyone has their own taste. I’ll pick almost anything up, but that also means that I reserve the right to put it down whenever I decided I don’t care about it. It’s not a lack of respect for the author and it’s not a lack of intelligence or ability to understand. No, it’s typically that I just don’t care and would rather be doing something else.
So, thank you, Mr. Name-I-Don’t-Remember. You have truly given me the gift of time.