Dear fellow readers,

Every year I tell myself I want to read more.
But what I really should tell myself is that I want to read better.

Not faster. Not more impressively. Not in a way that can be neatly summarized in a tracker or a number. I want to read in a way that feels like living inside stories again. The kind of reading that softens the edges of a day, stretches time, and reminds me why books have always felt like home.

My 2025 reading year was, in all honesty, quite catastrophic. Dealing with health issues aside, my reading habits changed drastically and my love for reading took a turn for the worse. So for 2026, instead of setting rigid goals and numbers, I’m building a set of intentions. Gentle guideposts. A reading philosophy for the years ahead.

Yes, there’s a number attached to it — I’m aiming for 100 books — but the number is not the point. It’s simply a container. The real focus is how I want reading to feel.

And this year, I want it to feel slow, intuitive, and deeply personal.

Reading slower

This sounds contradictory, but it isn’t. Follow me for a second.

For years, I equated finishing books quickly with success. If I wasn’t flying through pages, I felt behind. But somewhere along the way, I noticed that my favorite reading memories were never about speed. They were about immersion — lingering passages, rereading sentences, letting a story breathe and take me where i was supposed to go.

In 2026, I’m giving myself permission to slow down inside the act of reading.

That means :
• Pausing when a line hits
• Sitting with a chapter instead of racing to the next
• Letting books live beside me instead of treating them like tasks

Ironically, slowing down often deepens my desire to keep reading and that's what i'm chasing here. That excitement of going back to a book. That spark of starting a new one and loosing myself to characters and a universe. You could say that my goal is to fall in love with reading again.

I want books to feel like spaces I explore again, not boxes I check.

Mood reading as a compass

For a long time, I tried to organize my reading like a syllabus. Carefully planned tbrs and lists. Perfect seasonal stacks. Genre rotations. And while structure has its place, I’ve learned something important : my best reading happens when I follow curiosity.

Mood reading is my way of honoring that instinct.

In 2026, I want to ask : What story do I need right now ? Not what I should read. Not what’s trending and hyped at the moment. Not what fits a plan. But what do I feel like. Some days that might be a dense classic and other days, a comforting fantasy, a strange literary fiction, or a nostalgic reread. Mood reading keeps books connected to emotion — and emotion is what makes my reading experience meaningful.

So instead of forcing myself through books that don’t resonate, I want to trust that my shifting interests are guiding me toward the right stories at the right time in my life.

A Classic Journey

I’ve always wanted to explore more classics, but I’m intentionally stepping away from the idea of “catching up” or completing some invisible literary canon.

This isn’t about obligation. It’s about curiosity.

I want 2026 to include a gentle, ongoing conversation with classic literature — stories that have endured, voices that shaped literary history, worlds that still echo today. But I’m not building a rigid tbr for that to happen, instead, I’m approaching classics like a long journey :

• Picking what genuinely intrigues me

• Reading at my own pace

• Letting connections form naturally

I know that some classics will resonate with me and some others won’t and both outcomes are just as valuable. The point is to engage, not to conquer.

The Comfort of Rereads

Rereading used to feel indulgent, like I was wasting time I could spend discovering something new and for that reason, my stack of novels to reread keeps on getting longer and longer.

Now I see it differently — rereading is a form of literary homecoming.

Not only is there something profoundly comforting about returning to a beloved story — you’re not chasing plot twists, you’re revisiting feelings, characters, and moments that shaped you as a reader — but it's also my way to show more love to meaningful tale through the process of annotating it. And each reread reveals something new, because you are new.

In 2026, I want to intentionally weave rereads into my year:

• Books that feel like warm blankets

• Stories tied to memories

• Characters who feel like old friends

Rereads aren’t a detour from progress, they’re part of building a rich reading life.

The 100 Book Goal

Let’s talk about the number.

I’m aiming for 100 books in 2026, but not as a badge of productivity or a comparison point. The number is simply a framework — a gentle rhythm to encourage consistency in my habits as well as downsize my overflowing tbr.

If I reach it, wonderful. If I don’t, nothing is lost.

What matters is that the goal supports my intentions rather than overriding them. I refuse to rush a meaningful book just to stay on pace as a single immersive reading experience is worth more than several skimmed ones to me.

The number is there to invite engagement — not pressure.

Reading as a Way of Living

More than anything, I want my 2026 reading life to feel integrated into my everyday world.

A chapter with my morning coffee. Books on my bedside table. Margins filled with thoughts. Stories lingering in the background of ordinary moments. Reading isn’t separate from life — it’s a way of deepening it. This year isn’t about optimizing my bookshelf. It’s about cultivating a relationship with reading that feels nourishing, spacious, and joyful.

Slow when it needs to be slow. Curious when it wants to wander. Familiar when comfort is needed. A year of reading not for achievement — but for presence. And that feels like the best intention I could set.

What are yours ?

Love, Celine.