I love being an English major. I look forward to my workshop classes to read my peers’ work. I get so excited to read pieces of literature that I’ve always heard of but haven’t gotten around to yet. I love that moment when something clicks, and I have that, “I finally get this!” moment. 

What I don’t like is not having a lot of free-reading time. I don’t like my “to-read” pile of books turning into a small library. I don’t like walking into a bookstore and sighing wistfully at the “New Releases” shelf, knowing that by the time I get to them, they will be in the “Paperback New Releases” section, or even banished to the myriad stacks of alphabetized fiction. But what do I do? I buy it anyway, because one day I won’t have anything to do, but as my current Netflix queue stands, I don’t think that will happen anytime soon. 

This past summer, I went on vacation to Washington and Oregon with my family, and while I fell in love with Mount Rainier National Park, the Oregon coastline, and the cool, non-humid summer temperatures, I sold my soul to Powell’s City of Books–hallowed ground for bibliophiles such as myself. They parade numbers on their website, proclaiming their 68,000 square feet of bookspace, over one million titles in the store, and over 3,500 subsections of books, which is all true because I personally perused through those stacks for hours. Is your mouth watering? Is your nose twitching at the pungent ink? Is your hand sweaty from gripping a 30-pound plastic basket full of books? Because mine certainly was. 

I ran my fingertips over those book spines for hours, and I played a game of heavy tetris trying to fit all the books I wanted to buy in my basket. I admired cover illustrations of different editions. I salivated over the outrageously expensive out-of-prints. 

And while browsing on the top floor where the poetry books lived, I had a crushing realization that I will never read all these books. No matter how hard I try, I will never have that moment of accomplished finality with every book I want to read and finish. No matter how hard I try to catalog my “to read” shelf on Goodreads, my wishlist on Amazon, or my detailed lists on my phone, I will never in my lifetime read all the books I want to.

Am I okay with this? Absolutely not, but I’m trying to be. I’m trying to not start books that everyone else is reading on the bestseller list, but instead listen to what my friends are recommending, because they know me. I’m trying to not pick up books simply because the cover art is beautiful, but to read the first few pages to see if the writing style suits my taste. I’m trying to be a more conscious consumer.

I’m now only starting books I have a real desire and hunger to read. I will no longer torture myself reading terribly written books, just because the film adaptation is coming out. I will not read a book solely because my favorite author recommended it. I will be picky, and I will be particular, and if “too many books” is my only problem, then I really have nothing to complain about.