I only read one book in 2025.

One.

Singular. Uno. A lone champion on my Goodreads list.

I wish I could say I was savoring stories with the refined palate of a literary sommelier, but truthfully? I just didn’t read. At all. And not for one neat little reason. It was more like… a collage of distractions. A mosaic of chaos. A scrapbook of “oh, I meant to.”

So in the spirit of transparency, here are ten extremely valid, deeply serious reasons I read only one book in 2025:

1. Taylor Swift consumed my entire personality.

Turns out I did read a lot — I just read lyrics, liner notes, easter eggs, subreddit theories, and the occasional lyric analysis essay written by a 19-year-old music major. Also: I logged 107,033 minutes of Taylor Swift on Spotify, placing me in the top 0.002% of global fans, and the 4,851st top listener, so honestly? That counts as continuing education. I am basically an academic at this point.

2. Cross stitch stole my soul.

Every time I sat down to read, my brain whispered, “Or… hear me out… what if you stitched seasonally costumed cats and Taylor Swift lyrics instead?” So I did. For HOURS. I shopped for patterns. I designed patterns. I charted “Men will let you down. The Eras Tour never will.” in a fabulous font with Eras Tour-inspired hearts. My Kindle collected dust while my embroidery scissors thrived.

3. I made hundreds of bookmarks.

Which is objectively ironic. Because I, a person who does not read, have become a (nearly) full-time bookmark maker. Some people create art that reflects their lived experience. I make bookmarks for a hobby I no longer participate in.

4. Muffin, my fluffy little chaos demon, required enrichment.

I cannot read when Muffin is awake. I cannot read when Muffin is asleep because then I am staring at Muffin like a creep. So, no reading. Only Muffin.

5. Documentaries count, right?

I learned. I absorbed information. I became smarter, wiser, more informed. Just not… in a bookish way. If my Goodreads challenge included documentaries about cults, historical events, and nature being terrifying, I’d be thriving.

6. I fell into a rewatch hole I cannot climb out of.

I could’ve read a new story. Instead, I chose comfort. So yes, I rewatched The West Wing and Buffy the Vampire Slayer for the approximately 807th time each. Do I know every line? Yes. Do I mouth them along? Also yes. It’s a ritual now. A lifestyle. A commitment.

7. My brain is tired.

2025 has been a lot. Good things. Hard things. Work things. Creative things. Things that made time blur. By the end of the day, the idea of parsing words felt like a group project I didn’t sign up for. I did try to read. I picked up books. I started them. A few were even great. I just didn’t have the capacity to follow through, and I’m learning that’s not failure — it’s just the season I’m in.

8. I think the one book I DID read might have cursed me.

It was good. Too good. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for the vulnerability of starting another. Better to just… stare at it across the room like we have an unfinished conversation.

9. My attention span evaporated.

Every time I opened a book, my brain said, “Let’s think about literally anything else instead! Like that time I was awkward in 2013 or whether raccoons have best friends.” Spoiler: I Googled raccoon friendships instead of reading. They do have friends.

10. The most important reason:

I just wasn’t in a reading season — and that’s okay. Hobbies ebb and flow. Passions shift. Sometimes you’re devouring books; sometimes you’re devouring all things Taylor Swift and counting cross stitch stitches like they’re breaths.

So, what’s next?

Will 2026 be my triumphant return to reading?
Will I finish TWO books? Three?? A novella???
Or will I simply accept that my life’s work right now is vibing, stitching, all things Taylor Swift, and navigating the daily Muffin-induced chaos with love and bandaids?

Time will tell.

Until then, if you need me, I’ll be stitching, listening to Taylor, and rewatching The West Wing and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Yes, again.