When I think about all the books I haven’t read, I feel a sense of despair. Although some people say that I read a lot, the truth is, what I’ve read is a drop in the ocean of what’s out there. 

Every year, more and more books come out. And I have whole lists of books from various genres — classics, business, personal development — that I’ve yet to make a dent in. 

It’s such a futile venture — trying to read as much as I can before I die. Even if I’m able to read 200 books a year, and I live till 100, that’s only about 14,000 books. 

Despite having known this for about 10 years now, I still haven’t come to terms with the fact that there’s so much I will never read. 

But it’s yet another reminder that my time on this earth is short, that there’s only so much I can accomplish. 

It’s a reminder to appreciate the books that I do have an opportunity to encounter. A reminder to not finish the books that I don’t enjoy, that I read out of a sense of obligation. 

I guess it’s the same for everything else in life. 

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