A no to annotating

If you are on any social platform, you might feel it: the pressure to annotate. All the book girlies do it, don’t they? Underlining, highlighting, and putting your thoughts in the margins. The tabs sticking out of the pages are proof of a job well done. But then, for some of us, we can sit there with our pen in hand and not know what to say.

Reading for me is chaos, bits and pieces that make sense in the end, that make the whole thing. It’s why I can never explain why I saw the twist coming, just that I did. I can never quite find the words either. Why did I underline this? It’s vibes, just vibes that make sense somewhere at some place. It never worked for me, as it never makes sense. I understand the appeal, the aesthetic of it. It’s a way to converse with the story, of connecting dots. I do it too for books that inform and teach, but for pleasure?

I don’t annotate the books I read for pleasure. I cannot make myself do it, and at this point, I’ve accepted this. I don’t want to do it, and as everyone’s experience is unique, so is choosing what to do with this topic. Neither is better than the other, and I’ve accepted that it doesn’t work for me. To me, there is something lovely about letting a story unfold on its own.

The joy of reading, of loving books, lies in their rereading for me. In rediscovering a book, familiar yet different, not because the words have changed but because I have. I have changed, I’ve grown, had new experiences, and the book teaches me something new. With the passing of time, the books and it’s meaning have matured with me.

When I annotate a book, I freeze the book in that single version of myself. When I return later to it, I find myself waiting there. It holds me back to who I was, and it misses the chance for me to meet the book where I am today.

I understand and get that some people use it to anchor their thoughts, to remember what has gone on. But for me, I just remember it. This doesn’t make me special or particularly clever; it’s just a different way of experiencing the story. Some people need notes, others need to ruminate.

There is no moral high ground, no better reader. In general, that is a bit silly. To let us be divided in who does it better when we do things differently. A highlighter does not make you understand a passage better, nor does reading a book with your eyeballs instead of your ears make you somehow a better reader (the problem there is semantics and rudeness; I am team accessible reading for everyone).

Because that’s another thing, isn’t it? How quickly people are to draw lines around what counts as “real” reading. About the proper way to do it. When there is no right way. The endless noise of who reads right, who reads best, who reads most. I’ve never cared for that. Reading, to me, is about the stories. There is no competition. The only competition is with yourself, and coming from someone who stopped reading for a long time before, there is no losing to yourself.

And maybe that’s why I don’t annotate. I want each reread to feel new, I want to learn and take away the lessons I have to learn today, not the ones younger me had to learn. I want to meet the story again with open eyes (or ears), and learn what it has to teach me today.

Besides, when a book doesn’t quite land for me, I like to pass it along. To leave it somewhere, with someone who will love it better than I ever could. That cannot be done with annotated books, and sure, we can put it in the blue bin (the paper recycle bin might be coloured differently where you live). But still… I love for others to have a chance to read those books that weren’t for me. Because they might be that person’s next favourite.

Recently, I was reading some books for a series coming out in February (keep your eyes peeled). As I leafed through one, I noticed my old annotations and remembered so vividly how the story hadn’t clicked with me the first time. How I hadn’t been in the right headspace. It brought me right back to feeling that way, and it was not good. I pushed through, and those chapters that hadn’t clicked? Came alive now. Because I am in a different place now, a better one, and I feel ready to receive the story and its message.

The notes remind me in a bad way of that first experience, and how sad is that? Luckily, I had not gone far then. But it’s sad that whenever I go back to it, I will always be reminded of that first time when I had altogether forgotten where I had stopped reading and why. This is my confession of sorts. I accept that I am not an annotating person.

Annotation isn’t part of my reading experience, and it doesn’t have to be part of yours. If it doesn’t bring you joy, then don’t. It doesn’t make you a worse reader, just a different one. And there is so much in life to highlight, it does not have to be a book.