My bookshelf is about two thirds full of books I am yet to read.
I have around 50 unread ebooks.
I have around 20 unfinished audiobooks.
I have around 85 saved articles.
I have a tray of articles I've printed out to read.
I have countless more links saved for videos to watch, things to read, and podcast episodes to listen to.
My list of books to acquire sits at above 200.
And I continue to add.
It's such an odd thing we do to ourselves, isn't it?
To fill a backlog with things to consume--generally categorised by form--and to rely on whims and perhaps convenience to choose what we act upon.
I've been thinking about this recently. I've read about other people's systems and I've stared at my piles wondering if something will come to me in a moment of stark intuition. It hasn't.
And so the system stays as it is. No one dies. My life is no worse.
It's not a problem that hurts enough.
Some books pull at me more than others and I use those to choose.
I continue to read. I suppose that was always the point.
Maybe one day I'll change the system.
But--for now--I'll continue reading Draft No. 4 thanks.