on reading: quality over quantity

It’s that time again: a look back at my top reads of the year. In 2024, I focused more on the quality of my reading versus sheer quantity (reading 100 books in 2023 was a fun challenge but for now that can stay in the rear view mirror). I found that I retained more and enjoyed more — imagine that!

2024 was for bringing in the element of community and a lot of that was through book clubs. I was in three to four different book clubs over the course of 2024 and I even started my own!

My cardinal rule of reading: if you don’t love it within the first couple chapters, move on guilt free — slap a DNF on there and pick up something else. More tips on getting back into reading here.

I managed to narrow down a list of my top twelve reads, one for each month, in no particular order (links to local booksellers included!):

1. The Once and Future Witches. This was reccomened to me by a friend who is an excellent writer so I knew I could trust her taste, and I was not disappointed. Beautifully written, this is not a light, cozy, witchy read but a deep exploration of themes such as feminism, queer culture, and sisterhood. I love Alix E. Harrow, Starling House was one of my top reads of ‘23.

2. The Night Guest. I read this in a haunted hotel around Samhain (AKA Halloween) and finished it by flashlight with my mouth agape. Eerie and page turn-y. Set in Reykjavík and translated form Icelandic which adds to the dark flavour. A quick novella. The ending had me clawing my eyes out and needing to discuss, and for that it makes the list. The cheery pink cover is a trap.

3. The Heiress. I guess I had a thing for dark glamour this year. This book was chilling and delicious. I can’t and won’t say more, take yourself on a trip with this one.

4. 28 Summers by the Queen of Nantucket, Elin Hilderbrand, wins the award of The Most Unexpected because I signed up for a beach read and it ended up pulling at every heartstring and made me cry. While I have natal placements in Cancer, that doesn’t happen often with books. That’s what I love about Hilderbrand’s work: beachy is not necessarily synonyms with light. I read it while on Nantucket, but even if you can’t go there, you might as well have because this book is so transportive you can practically feel the sand between your toes. The Perfect Couple, Swan Song, and other Hilderbrand books kept me company this summer but nothing quite broke me like this one. It sounds like the Queen of Nantucket is hanging up her flip flops and switching to dark academia projects, so get in the beachy vibes while they’re hot.

5. Mad Honey. Beautiful and surprising, this is probably my favourite Jody Picoult book. It also made me want to become a bee keeper. Or maybe a queen bee.

6. Listen for the Lie. I read this with a friend and that made it all the more fun. All good text messages start with: “have you got to the part where…”. The podcast theme is becoming a bit popular but this was twisty and well executed.

7. The Year of Magical Thinking is critically acclaimed and famous for a reason. Joan Didion really is that girl. I owe her a lot because this book was the inspiration to start my own book club (shout out to The Main Course!) which has kept me intellectually fed and has nourished some beautiful friendships this year. One of my girlfriends described it so honestly when she said that she wouldn’t have been able to finish it without the accountability of a book club, because it just explores grief so rawly and vulnerably that it would be easier to put it down than emotionally “go there”. But when you do, you are changed.

8. Is there an afterlife? Do we come and go as we please? Do we do a few (hundred? thousand?) laps around the sun in a human carnation? Michael Newton’s Journey of Souls changed my relationship with death, my perception of life (huge claim!), and was the book I talked about most to anyone who would listen this year (shout out to Anna, my nail girl, who literally held my hands while I externally processed this book). Without being hyperbolic, Journey of Souls made me feel better about the undeniable truth that awaits us all: death.

Have you ever met someone and felt like they’re just an old soul? They possess a type of wisdom, calm, overall aura of… this isn’t their first rodeo? We see this a lot with kids — they are ahead of the curve, pick things up easily, say things we couldn’t have possibly taught them, and in some extreme cases recall memories from other lifetimes. Journey of Souls is a collection of case studies from psychologist and master hypnotherapist Michael Newton, spanning his career. Essentially, he puts people under deep hypnosis and they are able to connect with exact details of not only their previous lives but also the space in between lives. What I found most fascinating was that all of his clients, over the course of decades, from all walks of life, were able to verbalize and describe the exact same place in their own words. Essentially a school in the sky where we have guides, teachers, and peers where we are sorted according to our “level” AKA how many incarnations, lessons learned, wisdom gained etc. Newton was able to extract information and compare data to find something amazing: uncanny similarities between everyones experiences across the board. I also loved the ranking of souls as different colours of light, the description of how we are greeted on this other plane when we leave earth, and the overall sentiment that we choose our lives. If you read one book from this list, let it be the Journey of Souls. I am literally begging you.

9. I recommend Anxious People by Fredrik Backman the most this year because of it’s sheer originality, dark quirky humour, and Backman’s unique writing style. This is a book better experienced than explained. Thanks to my bff Sammy for putting this one in my orbit. Fall in love with Backman below, in this hilarious speech. (PS: Hey Freddy, can I call you that? Maybe we can meet up when I go to Sweden this spring? Meatballs on you).

10. A must read for fans of Isabella Stewart Gardner, The Lioness of Boston was my Roman Empire this year. Beautifully transportive this made me fall even more in love with Isabella and the archetype of the before-her-time badass woman. I found myself retracing her steps, standing in front of the site of her house on Beacon Street just absolutely awestruck. The book describes her painstakingly designing the house brick by literal brick and by doing so, embarrassing her husband because how dare a woman speak to a contractor and better yet, how dare a woman have an opinion or god forbid an idea. Fun fact, in real life Isabella had the home torn down and the address changed permanently after her passing so that no one can ever have the same address as her again. Pretty epic. Bonus points if you read this and visit her museum here in Boston for a totally immersive experience of the eccentric force that was and is Isabella Stewart Gardner.

11. THIS. BOOK. Wow. The Only One Left tanked my sleep score. I clutched this book ‘til the wee hours of the morning just dying to know what happens next. I inhaled it. Twists, shocks, dark glamour — this book has it all. Fast paced, creepy, mysterious. DO. IT.

12. And finally, my top rated book of the year. The book that has my heart. I am a huge fan of Matt Haig’s work and this is no exception. The Life Impossible follows the story of a retired mathematics teacher who mysteriously inherits property in Ibiza and vividly describes her mystical journey as she wades through grief and dare I say, alien life. PICK THIS UP for a heartfelt and beautifully bizarre story.

Wishing you plenty of cozy reading time this year. Remember it is not about how many books you tear through, but the books that tear ya up.

In quality,

ty

on uncertainty and the big pause

The last two years have been a Masterclass in Uncertainty.

First, two years of a global pandemic.

Second, a cross continental move that I naively labeled an “Adventure Year!”.  (I look back at Just-About-to-Move June 2021 Ty and I laugh. She had no idea what was about to transpire).

Now that I am nearly on the other side of it, I feel as though the early pandemic era was training me for this year away in Boston.

The world has returned to "normal" (which I find a little annoying, I truly thought we would have collectively elevated ourselves but that is a topic for another day).

While the world starts to come alive again, I still feel on pause and uncertain as I flow through this kind of bizarre year long experience.

The Big Pause.

A close friend, in a vein of genuine concern, during one of my particularly emo calls with her, called my year a Pause. She made an incredibly compelling argument as she depicted my own life back to me. Because it was on FaceTime, I got to see my own jaw drop in horror as everything she said seemed to ring so true but so abhorrently wrong at the same time.

After the call, the word “pause” rattled in my brain for a while. I’d shake my head, attempting to free myself of it, but there it was, bonking around in my mind. Omni present. Did it strike a nerve because I desperately wanted this time to be the opposite of paused? Did it strike a nerve because I felt like I was moving forward faster than anyone else I knew? Or did it strike a nerve because it was true?

This year of self-development, learning, investing in myself, and growing... was it really just a pause? While my partner was accelerating his professional success, was mine just on ice?

The answer is nuanced. Yes, certain things are on ice. Like the traditional way of working like I had been for fifteen years. On ice, ice, baby. At first it was a relief. I almost heard the hiss as I set my fast-paced career in the ice bucket. A few months in though, after the novelty of being “temporarily retired” wore off, I really had to confront my relationship with productivity in terms of self worth.

Some other elements of my life though, either faded or flourished.

Here's what I mean:

For example, relationships. I am the kind of person who likes to be surrounded by other people; connection is one of my core values. This year tested that. Some peripheral friendships didn't quite survive the move.

Author Luvvie Jones helped reframe friendship for me this year. Essentially, she gives huge weight to the term “friend”. Jones teaches that to call someone a true friend means that you are responsible for their care, and they are responsible for yours. She also preaches that healthy reciprocal friendships act like a charging station for the soul. Think about it.

Because of our huge move, and the (initial) short term length of it, gone were the days where I could just pop over for drinks with a friend, get our nails done together, go to yoga and brunch, or (because I had such a social career) tend to my social-butterfly soul for eight solid hours a day by simply being where I had to be.

I watched as the relationships that I truly needed and valued, not only survived, but absolutely and positively FLOURISHED. They levelled UP. God, I saw which relationships were crucially important and soul serving.

Through trial and error, I learned who was willing to reciprocate. “Invest in those who invest in you…” became a mantra on the lonelier days. I learned which foundations were solid. The best part? Although it was nearly 99% reliant on technology, I surprised myself because these relationships did not feel like work. They felt like the opposite of work. They felt like exactly what I needed and what I wanted to offer. They felt flowy. My guiding word for 2022 is “ease”. They felt easeful.

They felt like morning hugs in the form of voice notes. They felt like "thinking of you's" in the form of random midday calls. They felt like international postcards, surprise gourmet cookies, thousands upon thousands of texts, photos of "what do you think of these shoes?", and less trivially, they felt like supporting each other wade through current events. They felt like holding space for breakups and quitting jobs, getting into dream schools and supporting each other through small things and big things. They felt like flower deliveries and sharing favourite books. They felt like tracking numbers and memes. They felt like sharing playlists and experiencing the same feelings hundreds of thousands of miles apart. They felt like spontaneously recommending cleaning products because one of us spilled while on FaceTime. They felt like off-the-grid weekends away with the best of the best. They felt like downloading what we can only assume is a children’s game app and all virtually playing it together. They felt like intentional and present conversations, and they felt like love.

By honing in and editing out, I also made space for new friendships to form and blossom. When we first moved here, the only regular face I saw was my middle-aged old school Irish Bostonian UPS guy, Paulie. Thanks to my shopping problem, he was around regularly. I sometimes had a cold bubbly water waiting for him in exchange for a Sephora box. To my friends back home, I jokingly called him my Boston BFF and I even cried when I gave him a Christmas gift and told him what his kindness and our weekly chats meant to me. Jesus. While I still cherish my chats with Paulie, I’ve got a select number of cool humans in Boston who I deem to be a friend.

The next thing that did not pause but indeed flourished, was my learning and education. I recently tallied how many online courses I have enrolled in and it's a little shocking. My In Progress File is thick.

My tool belt is overflowing, to the point where it might be wise to call in The Home Edit gals and create a system to edit it back (imagine Clea and Joanna labelling my proverbial academic junk drawer with raised eyebrows).

I am signing up for anything and everything that I have ever wanted to learn, things that regular life asked me to put aside over the last decade. I procrastinate my toughest assignments in my formal courses by attending one-off workshops in subjects totally unrelated. I rebel and cope with the frustration of teaching myself how to properly use an architectural scale by doing a four-day deep dive into natal charts. If one book starts to blow my mind a little too much, I set it down for a couple days to inhale another book, and then back around I go. It’s cyclical.

So here we are, my self-development year coming to an end. For the last year, we had one relatively clear path and in the last few months we have been presented with another. That's where the learnings from The Masterclass in Uncertainty come in. The difference between being uncertain at the beginning of the pandemic, and the uncertain limbo I find our little family in now, is that I do not feel held by the solace of "we are all in this together" with the rest of the world anymore. This Uncertainty feels like a custom-tailored lesson from some kind of Cosmic Deity Atelier. It has been carefully measured, marked, and cut for us. We just have to get used to wearing it.

I am learning to relinquish the illusion of control (keyword learning – if by some miracle I ever master it, I will be sure to let you know).

So, to summarize whatever this was, someone recently asked me how things were going, and I told them, “Good! Just can't wait to read the next chapter of my own dang life.”

Will the things on ice be set out to defrost?

Will the new tools in my tool belt be put to good use?

We will have to read on to find out.

In present and hopeful uncertainty,

ty