N・o・t・e・s

 Hey Nerds

Welcome back to N・O・T・E・S, the part of the week where I ramble about books, ideas, and everything in between

This week, we’re talking about the “middle chapters”—in books and in life. That stretch in your 30s to 50s where the plot’s unclear, the pace slows, and character development is very real. Sometimes we forget the story and sometimes, we just want a book with no plot and a glass of wine.

The random corner of my brain where ideas and grocery lists mingle

I bookmarked a page, came back two days later and forgot the plot

Why do books not come with a “Previously on…” section like TV shows? Honestly, I need a recap every time I pick up a novel I haven’t touched since Monday. Just a quick:
“Last time in Chapter 8: she was standing barefoot on the balcony, trying to decide if walking away from the life she built was an act of strength or sabotage.”
Is that so much to ask?

Here’s a tip: if you’re not planning on going back to read for a few days, write a post it note to self on what the MC has done, been thinking or what you anticipate will happen next. It will get those brain cells firing up again when you pick the book up.

But really, this is the symptom of something deeper: brain fog, over-scheduling, and the chaotic beauty of being alive in your 30s, 40s, and 50s. Our brains are juggling grocery lists, health appointments, weird emails from our bank, and the name of that actor from that one show we watched. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done this, it’s crazy!) The cognitive load is real.

And so what if we forget where we left off? Sometimes we don’t need to go back and reread—we could just make up a plausible plot for the meanwhile and roll with it. Confidence is key in this stage of life. Continuity is a suggestion. Fiction is fiction, and we’re co-writing it now.

Honestly, forgetting what’s going on in a book is a lot like walking into the kitchen and forgetting why you’re there. You pause, you scan, you improvise. “Oh right, I came in here to… grab some crackers. Probably.” Same energy.

And maybe, just maybe, the plot wasn’t that important anyway? Maybe it was about the vibe, the prose, the way it made you feel for a second before life pulled you away.

Non fiction reviews & real talk

Books with no plot and just vibes are valid - we, too, are aimless sometimes

There comes a point in life—usually somewhere after your 20s and before your back starts making weird noises—when you stop needing every story to go somewhere. Plot? Optional. Vibes? Mandatory.

Give me a book where people just exist. Where a character spends half a chapter looking out a window and thinking about a conversation from six years ago. Where nothing “happens” and yet you somehow feel like your entire emotional landscape just shifted two inches to the left.

And isn’t that... kind of like life in your 30s to 50s?

We’re not always chasing Big Moments anymore. Sometimes the most profound thing that happens all day is realising we no longer hate anchovies on pizza. Or finally forgiving ourselves for something dumb we did way back in 2013.

Also, let’s be honest: there’s something deeply comforting about books where not much happens. Especially when so much is happening in our real lives. Give me lyrical prose, pretty scenery, and someone contemplating a minor life change for the next 20 pages. That’s a soul vacation. That’s therapy.

So yes: books with no plot are valid. They are necessary. They are the literary equivalent of lying on the floor listening to music you loved in high school. No outcome, no twist, no climax. Just vibes.

Because the truth is, we’re all just vibing through our middle chapters, too—finding meaning in quiet moments, side hobbies, and stories that don’t need a neat resolution to matter.

Where my brain wanders without asking permission

Once upon a time, I could devour a book in one sitting. I’d stay up until 2 a.m. with my eyeballs burning and a cliffhanger clutched to my chest, whispering “just one more chapter”. Now? I read one chapter, check a mole on my arm just in case, Google a name of a flower I read in the book which makes me go down the rabbit hole of horticultural courses I have no intention of applying to, and then remember I was reading something.

What happened? Did my attention span evaporate? Did life get busier? Or am I just constantly being pulled down rabbit holes that are equal parts existential crisis and mundane tasks?

All of the above.

In our 30s to 50s, reading often becomes a strange relay race between wanting to sink into a book and needing to clean out the junk drawer because it suddenly feels like a metaphor for our lives. Our brains are juggling relationships, responsibilities, career questions, and wondering whether it’s normal to be this tired all the time. It’s not that we don’t love reading anymore — it’s that we’re interrupted by a hundred mini side tasks.

Some nights, reading is less about finishing the book and more about being with it — dipping in, wandering off, coming back when you’re ready. And that’s okay. At least I’m not doom scrolling. (all of the time)

Because, honestly, it’s not that we’re distracted — we’re just living in layers. Every chapter we read sits next to 15 thoughts, 4 tasks, and one mild identity spiral. That’s not failure; that’s just life in the middle chapters. Tangled, interrupted, meaningful in weird ways.

So if you find yourself four pages in this afternoon and suddenly deep into an emotional fridge-cleaning session, you’re not alone. Consider it part of the story.

Those little lightbulb moments, sparked by a good sentence

The right book at the wrong time is still the wrong book.

Because honesty with a side of humour is the best kind

Twist Fatigue: A Memoir

I love a plot twist as much as anyone else but can we just chill for a moment? Not every story needs to pull a fast one on us. Sometimes, normal endings are a gift.

Life’s already throwing enough chaos our way. We don’t need books doing cartwheels every chapter. Sometimes the best ending is just… an ending. No drama, no cliffhanger, just peace.

So here’s to stories that don’t complicate things — cozy, calm, and totally respectful of our emotional bandwidth. Because honestly? Sometimes “nothing dramatic” is exactly what we need.

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Here we are—in the messy, gloriously awkward middle chapters of life and books. Forget perfect plots and neat endings; sometimes life (and reading) is just a series of forgotten laundry in the washing machine and forgotten pages. And honestly? I’m ok with that.

So, ditch the pressure to have it all figured out—whether it’s your reading list or your life. Embrace the chaos and the slow burns.

Now, I want to hear from you: What’s the last book you started but then got distracted by life? Hit reply and spill the tea. Let’s swap stories—plot twists optional.

Until next time, happy reading