{"id":15,"date":"2026-02-25T11:35:00","date_gmt":"2026-02-25T11:35:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/annasdt.com\/?p=15"},"modified":"2026-02-25T11:35:00","modified_gmt":"2026-02-25T11:35:00","slug":"why-i-stopped-trying-to-read-more-books-and-started-reading-better","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/?p=15","title":{"rendered":"Why I Stopped Trying to Read More Books and Started Reading Better"},"content":{"rendered":"<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/bc_24533_3742.jpg\" alt=\"\"\/><\/figure>\n<p>For a long time I measured my reading life by a single number: how many books I finished in a year. I kept a running list, set annual targets, and felt a small thrill each time I added another title. The goal seemed virtuous, the kind of self-improvement no one would question. But somewhere along the way I realized that chasing the number had quietly ruined the thing I loved. I was reading more books than ever and remembering almost none of them.<\/p>\n<h2>The Problem With Counting<\/h2>\n<p>The trouble with a reading target is that it optimizes for the wrong thing. When the goal is quantity, every book becomes an obstacle between you and the next one. I caught myself skimming, rushing through final chapters, choosing shorter books not because I wanted to read them but because they would move the counter faster. A difficult book that might have rewarded slow, careful attention became a liability, because it threatened my pace.<\/p>\n<p>Worse, the number created a strange anxiety. A book I was genuinely enjoying started to feel like it was taking too long. I would glance at my progress and feel guilty for lingering, as though savoring a good book were a kind of inefficiency. That is a deeply backwards way to relate to reading, and once I saw it clearly, I could not unsee it.<\/p>\n<h2>What Reading Better Actually Means<\/h2>\n<p>When I abandoned the target, I had to figure out what I was reading for in the first place. The answer, I decided, was not to accumulate finished books but to actually absorb ideas, to be changed in some small way by what I read. That reframing changed almost everything about how I approached a book.<\/p>\n<p>I started reading more slowly and deliberately. I allowed myself to stop and think mid-chapter. I reread passages that struck me instead of pushing forward out of momentum. Most importantly, I gave myself full permission to abandon books that were not earning my time. Counting books had made me a completist, grimly finishing things I disliked so they would count. Reading better meant accepting that a half-read book I learned from was worth more than a finished one I forgot.<\/p>\n<h2>The Practice of Engaging<\/h2>\n<p>Reading better is more active than reading more. Passive reading slides past you; active reading leaves a mark. The methods that helped me are unglamorous but effective:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>I keep a pencil in hand and mark passages that surprise or challenge me, which forces a small judgment on every page.<\/li>\n<li>After finishing, I write a few paragraphs about what the book argued and whether I agree, because explaining it to myself reveals how much I actually understood.<\/li>\n<li>I let books talk to each other, deliberately reading things that complicate or contradict what I read before.<\/li>\n<li>I revisit a handful of favorites rather than always chasing new titles, because a great book gives more on the second reading than a mediocre one gives on the first.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>That last point deserves emphasis. We treat rereading as somehow wasteful, a failure to be adventurous. But the books that matter most are rarely exhausted in a single pass. Returning to a book I read years ago, I always find that the book has stayed the same while I have changed, and the gap between us produces something new.<\/p>\n<h2>Reading Fewer Books, Keeping More of Them<\/h2>\n<p>The most surprising result of this shift is that I now remember what I read. When the goal was volume, books evaporated almost as soon as I finished them, leaving only a vague sense that I had read something on the topic. Now, because I read slowly and engage actively, the ideas stick. I can recall arguments months later, connect them to new things I encounter, and bring them into conversations. The books have become part of how I think rather than entries on a list.<\/p>\n<p>My yearly total has dropped considerably, and I could not care less. A dozen books I genuinely absorbed are worth more to me than fifty I raced through and forgot. The number was always a poor proxy for what I actually wanted, which was not to have read but to understand.<\/p>\n<h2>A Different Kind of Ambition<\/h2>\n<p>I want to be careful not to turn this into a scold against reading widely or quickly. Some people read fast and retain everything, and some seasons of life call for light, abundant reading. The point is not that slow is morally superior to fast. The point is to notice what you actually want from reading and to stop letting a convenient metric quietly substitute itself for that goal.<\/p>\n<p>For me, the metric had taken over completely without my noticing, and it had hollowed out a pleasure into a performance. Letting go of the count restored something I had lost. Reading became, once again, a conversation rather than a race, and the books I read now stay with me in a way the rushed ones never did. If your reading has started to feel like an obligation, I would gently suggest that the number on your list might be the culprit.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>For a long time I measured my reading life by a single number: how many books I finished in a year. I kept a running list, set annual targets, and felt a small thrill each time I added another title. The goal seemed virtuous, the kind of self-improvement no one would question. But somewhere along [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":14,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/14"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annasdt.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}