Why I Read 402 Books in 2025 (And Why It Mattered)

This Is Not a Flex. This Is a Manifesto.

I read 402 books in one year.

Before you clutch your pearls, sharpen your Goodreads dagger, or prepare to tell me how that’s “not real reading”… let me save us both some time.

This wasn’t a stunt. It wasn’t aesthetic.

And it certainly wasn’t about proving anything to anyone who believes reading must hurt to count.

This was survival. Structured. Intentional. Unromantic.

The Year Before the Books

My 2024 was… industrious, on paper.

I worked. I studied. I earned professional certifications. I lived inside deadlines, projects, exams, and the relentless optimism that we’re taught to perform when we’re “doing the right things.”

And then the certificates arrived. And then… nothing.

No dramatic career turnaround. No sudden influx of opportunity. Just silence. And waiting. And that slow, creeping doubt that arrives when effort doesn’t translate into momentum.

If you’ve been there, you know the feeling. Time stops behaving normally. Days stretch.

Motivation thins. You start slipping -- not loudly, not visibly -- but enough to worry yourself.

So I made a decision…

The Deal I Made With Myself

In 2025, I would read one book a day.

365 books. That was the goal.

Not because reading is noble. Not because I wanted bragging rights. But because I needed structure when everything else had dissolved.

I needed something finite. Contained. Winnable.

A book begins. A book ends. You finish something. You move on.

And crucially… I didn’t want reading to become another obligation that demanded emotional excavation.

So I made rules…

The Rules (Which Will Annoy Some People)

I did not read “important” books.

I did not read “challenging” books.

I did not read to improve myself, broaden my mind, or impress an imaginary committee.

I read:

• Fast-paced books

• Dark books

• Genre books - Horror, thrillers, mysteries, short stories, sci-fi, fantasy...

  
  

I avoided anything slow, dense, or philosophically inclined to stare into my soul.

Why?

Because I was still studying. Because my brain had limits. Because reading, for once, was allowed to be supportive instead of aspirational.

And yes… many of these books were “light” in form, even when the subject matter was bleak. That was the point.

On Audiobooks, Multitasking, and Other Heresies

A significant portion of my reading was done via audiobooks, often paired with ebook read-alongs. This was not cheating. This was logistics. It meant I wasn’t tethered to a chair or a reading nook. I could walk, do household chores (barely), lie down, stare at the ceiling, exist.

Stories moved with me instead of demanding my posture. If this offends your definition of “proper reading,” I gently suggest that it is a you problem. ;)

The Uncomfortable Truth

Here it is. No poetry. No varnish... I read that many books because I was jobless.

There. That’s the sentence.

Not unemployed in the cinematic sense. But between jobs. Waiting. Qualified but unseen. Active but stalled.

Reading filled the hours without letting them rot. It gave shape to days that might otherwise have dissolved into anxious scrolling and low-grade despair. It made time pass… not joyfully, perhaps, but tolerably. Less sticky. Less cruel.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, it worked.

What the Numbers Say (Quietly)

I finished more than I planned.

I retained more than I expected.

I enjoyed what I read -- consistently.

Which taught me something I hadn’t believed before:

I can read fast.

I can enjoy it.

I can remember what I’ve read.

The myth that “speed ruins comprehension” turned out to be just that… a myth. Or at least, a preference masquerading as a rule.

About Reading Snobs (A Brief Address)

There is a peculiar sanctimony that clings to reading as a habit.

People will tell you:

• What counts

• What doesn’t

• How fast is “too fast”

• What format is acceptable

• What genres are “lesser”

Ignore them.

Reading is not a monastery. There are no vows. There is no priesthood. If you are engaging with stories -- however you choose to do so -- you are reading. Full stop.

2026, Gently

I’m not doing this again next year.

No targets.

No challenges.

No numbers chasing numbers.

I hope to read for an hour a day. Or not.

I’ll read slowly when I want. Quickly when I want.

I’ve earned that flexibility.

What I’ve taken from 2025 isn’t the total count. It’s the knowledge that when life stalls, you are allowed to build your own scaffolding.

Even if it looks strange from the outside.

Even if it’s made of paper and sound and borrowed stories.

Especially then.

And if you can do something similar… Do it.

Read badly.

Read quickly.

Read dark things.

Read frivolous things.

Read the way you need to.

The gatekeepers will survive. You’re the one who needs looking after.