Audiobooks are convenient, low-lift tickets to another world.
Now, six years later, I find myself in a similar tear. A year of isolation and stress, it turns out, can manifest itself in a perpetual state of exhaustion to me, it feels like a listless (yet impatient) energy. At the end of the day, when my eyes are tired, a paperback can feel more like a stationary exercise in self-improvement than viable escapism.
Audiobooks are convenient, low-lift tickets to another world. And they allow me to pack more activities into a single day without burning out.
Sometimes I lounge in a bath listening to Bad Blood, or crank out some endorphins on a walk while a British narrator reads me a new mystery thriller or an author provides her first-hand experience researching extremism. And when I run out of baths to take or walks to go on,