But I have a secret - I have a problem finishing books. Its bad. I have boxes and shelfs of books I've begun reading and never finished, from Jesus the Christ to Come be My Light to Good to Great to The Rum Diary.
And worse, I'm often reading (and not finishing) several books at a time. My nightstand is covered in boxes of varying degrees of completion. John Grisham's, The Confession has been sitting on my nightstand for months. I have less than a 100 pages left and I'm dying to know the ending (Do they find the body?!?) - but for some reason I won't/can't finish it.
I only realized this tonight when I began looking through my bookshelf to find a new book to read. As I grabbed The Tipping Point from the shelf, I realized I'd began reading it last year but never finished it. I admire Malcolm Gladwell and enjoy the books he's written (I've even finished a couple) but for some reason I'd never finished this one. And not only that, why am I searching for a new book when I have a small forest lying on my nightstand begging to be finished?
Not only is it frustrating, its slightly disconcerting. As I sat on my floor realizing the full scope of my problem, I stumbled across Life of Pi and remembered its incredibly dramatic conclusion and thought perhaps I'm missing out by setting books down before they're finished. I'm not giving these books their due attention. When I pick up a book, am I not making a silent commitment with that author to hear them out, and then quickly casting them aside?
I once heard, "You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have a lost a friend." Maybe I fear losing a friend... (Or I have ADHD.)
My goal this week is to finish The Confession and say goodbye to a friend.
