It takes a lot of effort to turn a page. This feels like a very easy thing to do.
The most natural thing as well. But still it feels so hard.
Turning a page is actually an act of hope, optimism and courage.
What am I talking about? Why would I make such a random comment?
Imagine you are a reader in the middle of a book.
What if the current page is way too interesting? What if the story ends in a way you don’t like? What if the current page is so devastating that you fear what’s coming next?
In spite of all these apprehensions, a reader turns the page. He or she moves on and reaches the end of the story.
And finally, there is closure.
Would you ever appreciate a reader who gets stuck on the same page (or set of pages) and keeps reading again and again.
At least you can empathise with a reader who drops a book and never touches it again.
That choice is for the reader to make.
And it is a decisive choice.
And then you have readers who pick up abandoned books and then finish it in a flurry.
Even that is a choice that deserves approval.
Of course you have readers who never pick a book or pass the chance to read a particular book.
But you have to do something other than being stuck on the same page (or set of pages).
Why does this seem like such an urgent idea that I found very important to type in a fit of excitement, almost with a ‘Eureka!’ state of mind?
I have been stuck in a cycle of waking up late, skipping breakfast and indulging in habits that I wish I had not started. I was stuck in a same loop for almost 4 months. Sure, I inserted several habits that I do feel good about.
But the bookends have been patterns that I want to quit. It was like being stuck on the same page.
For a change I woke up early, made breakfast and cleaned my dirty car. I made it to office much earlier than usual and managed to read for almost two hours in a go. I spent two hours learning a new skill that would be super useful for my career.
I felt that I had finally ‘turned the page’ and moved on to the next one.
The previous post I wrote made me feel that I was stuck on the same set of pages.
I was obsessed with a few pages that I didn’t like. Instead of moving ahead and writing the next few pages of my story I had been overanalysing pages from the past. It’s not worth such over-analysis.
But maybe my ego was smashed.
How the hell did I write these pages? Was it me who wrote these pages?
What was I thinking? Seriously? Is this what I am capable of?
This loop of thoughts kept me chained to the same set of pages.
It feels like such a relief to turn the page.
Patience. It is supposed to be the greatest asset which I think I posses.
But like wave-particle duality of light, I seem to be super-impatient as well. It is hard to stop myself and find out which version of me is active at any given point of time.
Some of the best books I read took almost a year to finish. I had to keep it aside and patiently read ten or twenty pages a day. But I never quit.
I have thrown a Booker winning book to the dustbin because it was gifted by my ex. And there are abandoned books I never touched.
But the greatest joy, satisfaction and sense of achievement came from the books that took a year to read.
Probably, I need to cut myself some slack and allow myself to write a long, slow, hard to read, but meaningful story for myself.
But even in this scenario one needs to turn the page.
There is no choice but to turn the page. Or one has to abandon the book.