Quitting books is something I normally don’t like to do. I don’t want to give up on them, just like I wouldn’t want someone giving up on me.
I tend to have great expectations (get it? Because that’s a white canon classic novel by Charles Dickens?? I crack myself up) and then they are subsequently crushed because the book I picked didn’t meet those expectations. Sometimes I get excited because the cover is cool (the cardinal sin of judging a book by its cover); sometimes I get excited because of the author (whether they have promising reviews or if I have read them before, still doesn’t protect me from crushing disappointment); and then sometimes the title intrigues me.
This was the case for Everything’s F*cked: A Book About Hope by Mark Manson.
I started his other book before, but I had a malfunction with the audio file and couldn’t finish it. It wasn’t bad, but I couldn’t tell you what I remember from the half of the book I started.
I reject the notion that was presented very early in the book that we are insignificant in this vast universe. This all just can’t be a meaningless accident. You matter (get it? Like science and space??) to someone, something and/or for some reason. Everything is relative.
I had high hopes for this book (I’m killing it with the puns today). But I’m not sure if the book caused me to have an existential crisis or if the full Capricorn lunar eclipse at the time I was reading it forced me to be in a bad mood. All I know is that I was in my feelings (in the most Drake way possible) and I had to get out of there.
Usually extra happy stuff annoys me when I’m sad, but I had to take a reprieve to scroll through Instagram memes (I compromised by listening to my favorite sad music artist, Daughter).
But back to quitting books. Life is too short to stick with things that do not serve you and cause you unnecessary pain (and that goes for more than just books). For some reason reading (well, listening) to this book made me have a visceral emotional response of hopelessness (I’m sure the book eventually circles back around to being hopeful again. I just didn’t have the patience). It triggered something in me that I wasn’t expecting. Not even sleep could shake the feeling off (and usually sleeping it off helps everything).
And maybe that’s a sign that it’s a good book. Typically, books that make me exceptionally angry or sad or some other emotion (hungry?) are my favorite books. This book didn’t make me sad in the best way I usually enjoy. It’s on all these popular book lists, so it must mean people like it?
That’s ok! Everyone doesn’t have to like every book. I can hate and quit this book just like I can hate and quit beauty pageants forever (long story. I think that was an experience I purposefully forget I did…). Just like you have every right to hate and quit my blog (although I hope you don’t because that would also make me sad, and not in the best way that I usually enjoy).
Wow. This blog has made me exponentially more positive than I have ever been in my life. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
So how do you feel (hopefully not too hopeless)? Do you quit books or do you stick it out?