I have a library of self-help books on the shelf in my living room. Dozens of books that promise to solve any personal issue, earn me millions and declutter my life. None of them have been read beyond the first five pages, but it’s nice to know the answers are there, I guess.
Each book I have ever bought has received the same treatment. I read the introduction as part of a new “no screens after 9pm” routine that I am going to commit to for life, I smugly put it down on my bedside table, and then a month later I put it back on the shelf after it has served its purpose as a coaster.