I was recently at the gym, where I overheard an acquaintance of mine talking about a book she’s been reading. She and I have also talked about books, especially when she realized that I’m a librarian. I had a moment’s fleeting thought about going over to her and saying, “Would you be interested in starting a book club?” Then I thought, “Do I really want to be in a book club?” Book clubs are great, don’t get me wrong—you meet new people, possibly read books that you wouldn’t have picked out, but end up loving, have great discussions, and sometimes eat yummy treats.
As I thought about it, however; I got stuck on the part about reading books that I haven’t picked out, because sometimes, those books are duds. I realized that at this point in my life, I don’t want to share my limited reading time with anyone else (except when reading to my kids and sometimes when my husband and I get a chance to read to each other). Perhaps when the kids are grown I’ll give up some of my selfish reading habits and start or join a book group again.