I have been carrying this question around on a card in my stack of index cards for I don't know how long.

Should I schedule books to read?

Given I haven't added anything else to the card, and haven't actually asked this question, I figure it's time to decide.

No. No, I'm not going to schedule books to read.

I have my goal of "Read a book a week." I managed 73 books last year, and 105 books in 2015. I expect 52 - 54 books a year to be the normal with my book-a-week pace, with that 105 books in a year being a reaction to my reading only 40 books in 2014. I really wish I had started tracking the books I read like decades ago. Alas, I didn't.

In early 2015 I had expressed my woe about reading only forty books in the previous year to Mom, and I was thinking of making the goal of reading a book a week. She said, don't put that stress on yourself, having to read to reach a goal. Reading is about the pleasure of the experience and the delight of learning something new. I might have thought, "And the temporary escape from reality," but I didn't voice that comment. Having the pressure of reading a particular number of words ruins the joy of reading, so, no, don't create that goal.

Turns out, the goal of a book-a-week is fine, but TWO a week, now that's a stress.

So, I have a number of books I want to read, but not the actual books as a list. I am good with this. I have my giant stack of books to read, my boxes of books I've read and the boxes of books I haven't read, and my wishlist of books I think I want to read. I like browsing my books to figure out what I want to read next. A book I bought six years ago might be interesting today, because now is the time I want to read it, now is the time I'm ready to read it. Scheduling books to read, no, that'll add the pressure I don't want.

Deciding no and crossing that task off the list.

"Just let go," he said. "Let go. I'm right here."

Okay then, letting go now. Seeing where I land.

I'm in the process of reading Babylon's Ashes, book six of the Expanse series. In it someone important, one of the main characters, dies. Now, part of me is thinking, ugh, I don't want to give away any of the plot, but really, come on, of COURSE someone dies, a billion people died in the previous few books. That, and the George R.R. Martin effect: every author has to kill off a main character these days.

After the character dies, different parts of the solar system (yes, read that correctly, the Expanse series is a space opera after all) react in different ways. The side that liked the deceased mourn the loss. The friends of the deceased mourn the death. The side that was against the deceased celebrated the death.

Celebrated.

Party and joy at the death of a person trying to make the human-known (fictional, of course) universe a better place.

I sat with the thought for a bit. The authors tell the story in a biased way, of course. You're rooting for the good guy, for Holden, and his people. That's who you met first, so of course he's on the correct side. And really, the other side killed a few billion people, on the way to destroying all of human-kind with their actions, so, we really can't say they are the good guys even if their motivations of throwing off oppressors seems legitimate. Because of the bias, though, the celebrating is, uh, uncomfortable?, dishonorable?, wrong?

I continued to sit with the the thoughts, though.

If I die and there are people cheering, could that mean I did something right? Sure, yes, it could mean I did something very right, if the cheering comes for those who fought against doing the right thing for reasons of greed and desire for power and dominance over others, but it could also mean I did something very very wrong, thinking the case of people who are fundamentally evil.

If I die and people mourn, more that just my friends, I have to believe that was the end of a life worth living.

If I die and no one notices, wouldn't that be the worst kind of life lived?

Still sitting with the thoughts and the discomfort.

Should a death ever really be celebrated? A life yes. But a death?

Okay, so, for as long as I've been aware of these boxed cards of questions (I'd guess back in 2002 when they were first created by TableTopics as a plastic cube), I've wanted a set. Aside from the idea of "whoo hoo infinite writing prompts!" having a number of conversation starters available would be fantastic, as I often struggle with small talk in unfamiliar crowds.

Anyway, excited about them.

So, when in Great Britain last year or the year before, I picked up this set of cards. Excitedly, I recently opened the box to use a card as a writing prompt.

And came up with this card.

What is your most embarrassing moment?

I haven't managed to move beyond that card, because, well, here's the thing.

You, the general you, haven't earned the right to hear about my most embarrassing moment. That's a level of vulnerability I would share with very few people, and, really, why would I want to open myself to any sort of ridicule with the story of my most embarrassing moment. And, yes, shameful moments lose their power when you work through them, when you dust them off, when you bring them to the light and see them for the small things they are. But that dusting needs to be done with people you trust, who have earned that trust, in a place of safety.

So, yeah, that excitement for these cards pretty much died on the first card. Subsequent cards aren't as bad, but I'm fairly certain I'm not going to be going through all different boxes of conversation starters now.