Name:
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
This is the time of year when I like to peruse the reading lists of men and women I respect and get some ideas for reading in the new year. Of course, doing it this way I'm a year behind, as they're advertising what they read from what was published in 2010, and I'm thinking about what to read in 2011; but in the long run I guess a year makes little difference. But it's also the time of year that I can get easily discouraged: so many books, so few years left. I don't say that in a morbid sense, but it does make me sad that I'm bound to die before I get everything read. I guess I'm just way too intensely interested in too many things. And though I'm an expert in nothing, I'm drawn to so many different fields and want to read so deeply in those fields, there will never be enough time.
So sometimes I wonder: will I have all eternity to learn what I thirst to know? Or upon entering heaven will I instantly know it all? Or will I know nothing more than I do now but not care? Or will I find that I ask way too many hypothetical questions?
This year I read pitifully little, even when I consider the books I listened to. I left most of what I wanted to get read in a pile beside me, and so I start 2011 woefully behind. Behind what? I suppose behind some unreal expectation I've set for myself. But why did God put all these good books on this earth if he didn't want me to read them?
Labels: Books
<< Home