I often think about reading fiction. I know I would enjoy it, but it feels like a luxury. There is so much to do, so many self-imposed deadlines to meet, so much to learn that is directly applicable to the tasks at hand.
Usually, I end my daydream by relegating it to the lower half of the priority list (I never seem to get to the “lower half”). I keep telling myself, when I truly retire, I’ll read fiction all day long. Maybe I’ll even write something.
Yet, the thought keeps surfacing, unsatisfied with having been pushed into the background to be revived in some indefinite future.
The other day I came across this Twitter thread:
I feel like I have to do it. Perhaps allocate a specific time of day, perhaps commit to reading one book of fiction per month — or even per year. I need to get started. I can ignore this thought no more.
What thought have you been ignoring for too long?