So many of us consume ourselves with self-help, myself included.
Literally as recently as last month, I still prided myself on reading 50 books a year “less than 10% of which were fiction.” And even as I swore off “bullshit business books” I kept pounding self-improvement ones, repackaged in ways that won’t embarrass you on the subway (not that I ride on) or the airplane (which I often do); re-marketing the same messages but wrapping it up as “biographies.” They know what you doing with those. You’re pretending you can lift some lessons, become more like these people by reading a couple thousand word-summary of their whole lives.
I’ve known for a long time that it was just elevated escapism; distraction; procrastination — holding the thing at arm’s length by abstracting it into words. What I didn’t know was that it was all stupid.
[For more on this story by Kris Gage, go to https://medium.com/@krisgage/s...through-5c5e0f9a5f42]
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