Reading, Redesigned

I struggle to read.

I love the concept of reading. The idea that it can deepen my thinking, expose me to perspectives I otherwise wouldn’t have encountered, and expand my vocabulary so my words keep up with my thoughts. But the actual act of reading has always been difficult for me in ways I didn’t understand when I was younger.

My mind doesn’t move in a straight line the way words do across a page. I’ll get caught on the font, or a specific word that reminds me of something unrelated. Sometimes I’ll pull my eyes back slightly and notice the spaces between the words, how the negative space starts forming shapes if I soften my focus. Before I’ve finished the sentence, I’m already somewhere else.

I don’t skim. I can’t. The idea that a word might matter and I’ve skipped it makes me uneasy. So instead I reread obsessively, until the words lose meaning altogether. In school I worked hard to keep up, but too often I’d resort to watching the movie version just so I could participate in class. On reading days I brought magazines, not novels, because those I could finish without getting lost.

I spent most of my life thinking I wasn’t built for books.

And then I accidentally wrote one.

I wasn’t trying to enter the literary world. I just wanted to make a book. There was no plan to challenge publishing or reinvent reading. I was building a collection of short ideas that felt complete on their own. Plot and continuity were irrelevant. I was designing ideas the way I design everything I make — through contrast, tension, rhythm.

I accidentally designed a book I can finish. It doesn’t just tolerate my wandering; it depends on it. It asks me to linger, question, circle back, and build meaning instead of chasing it. Most novels depend on continuity — remembering what happened earlier while the story keeps moving. This one relies on stillness.

The concept of reading doesn’t change, but the structure does. Each sentence stands on its own, so if attention drifts, nothing breaks. That structure became a book called The Invisible Book, shaped as much by what’s absent as what’s present.

If you’ve ever struggled to finish a book, this one was built for you.

I didn’t redesign reading on purpose. I paid attention to contrast, tension, rhythm, and to the space that makes those things visible. The rest followed.

The concept of reading didn’t fail me. It just needed permission to pause.