When Bono threw this out there in the opening pages of his book, I thought I would fall under his poetic spell and re-emerge, changed, a few hundred pages later.
Instead, I bailed.
Did not finish.
Surrendered. Right around page 100.
I heard Bono on a podcast and thought I'd love this book. I almost did! Sort of. He writes it so beautifully and I love hearing about him forming U2 with some of his childhood friends. It's beautiful, the way he writes about meeting his wife. It's heartbreaking to read about the loss of his mom and how it changed his entire family.
Still. Still.
I found myself just begrudgingly turning the pages. It was just... taking too long.
Last night, a friend asked if I ever feel guilty not finishing a book. I told her - proudly - that I've let go of the shame that comes with a DNF. Then, I went home and saw this book on my nightstand and decided to watch Tik Tok instead.
This morning, I pulled the bookmark out of this book and opened another.
I don't think Bono would mind. I think he'd want me to be happy.
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