In the new Information Age, where we have all-day access to the ruminations of hundreds of people on social media and where an algorithm suggests various articles, videos, and podcasts on a myriad topics, I find I like and appreciate books more and more.
Especially books on paper.
I can sit with my book and my pen, underlining and commenting as much or as little as I like.
And the beauty of these comments I write in the margins of my books? They are solely meant for my own betterment. Not to one-up complete strangers.
But here's what I am most appreciating about books these days: They quietly take their time to develop a small set of thoughts. The depth of a good book is something that can never fit inside a Twitter soundbite, a clickbait article, or a life update on Facebook.
In comparison to books, the stuff I read online is so scattershot. And, in the long run, amounts to little more than mental noise.
And who needs extra mental noise these days?
(I hope that if my blogposts are noise, they are at least thoughtful, encouraging, and upward-focused noise!)
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