I used to feel slightly embarrassed by this. As if reading only counted when it looked tidy: one book begun, one book finished, thoughts gathered in a notebook by the end. Lovely in theory. In practice, I am usually reading according to weather, tiredness, and whether my brain can manage a sentence longer than a shopping list.

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There is a different kind of honesty in admitting that the right book is not always the most impressive one. Sometimes it is the one you can hold open when the house is finally quiet. Sometimes it is the one you read in uneven pieces, between the kettle boiling and the washing machine making that suspicious sound again.

So here is the honest version of what I am actually reading right now.

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay

Ross Gay decided to write a small "essayette" every day for a year about something that delighted him. The result is a book that feels like a masterclass in noticing. He writes about the small, unglamorous beauties — a flower in a sidewalk crack, a kind word from a stranger, the way light hits a specific tree. It's a reminder that joy is not a destination, but a habit of attention.

The Art of Reading by Damon Young

I picked this up because I wanted to think more deeply about why we read in the first place. Young explores reading as a philosophical act — a way of being in the world that requires patience, curiosity, and a willingness to be changed by what we encounter. It's a quiet, thoughtful book that makes you want to close your laptop and open a novel immediately.

The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh

I return to this one whenever my internal volume gets too high. Thich Nhat Hanh writes with a simplicity that is both beautiful and bracing. It's not about escaping life; it's about being fully present for the very ordinary things — washing the dishes, drinking tea, walking to the post office. It's the ultimate guide for anyone trying to find a little more room in their own hands.

That is the current stack. Not a recommendation list pretending to be a life philosophy. Just three books that seem to understand the season I am in: a little full, a little tired, still reaching for something beautiful before bed.