When Every New Book Feels Familiar

I’ve never been a dedicated reader. Most of my books are half read, their top corners folded into little triangles in the hope that I’ll return to them someday. I often hop from one book to another.

As a nonfiction reader, my preferred subjects are behavioral economics and self-help books on happiness, rationality, and decision-making. I have a habit of drawing parallels, making my own interpretations, and building correlations between ideas and concepts. At times, I read not just to absorb but to test—retaining a concept so I can validate it in my own experience.

And yet, it doesn’t take me long before distraction sets in. A couple of pages in, a thought strikes me: Haven’t I seen this before? Most of the time, the answer is yes. I check the publication date and realize the idea has already been written years ago. Sometimes decades. Sometimes centuries. The book in my hand is only a fresh cover over something older.

I remember this happening clearly when I picked up a book on Focusing by Eugene Gendlin. In the very first chapters, the author laid out six simple steps: recognize what you feel, stay with it, give it a name, notice the shift, and so on. As I read, I couldn’t stop myself from drawing a corollary to the Buddha’s Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path. The structure felt familiar. I revalidated the thought in my own mind, and it struck me—this six-step method was simply another way of expressing what the Buddha had taught centuries ago.

That recognition was both unsettling and confirming. On one hand, it felt like someone had trimmed down an ancient insight into a therapeutic checklist. On the other, it showed me how the same wisdom can travel across time, adapted for people who want practical steps more than spiritual doctrine.

Still, it is not only about marketing. Many of these books add something more. They test old ideas with new experiments. They bring in psychology, behavioral science, even neuroscience. They give a scientific flavor to ancient truths. For readers who demand rationality and evidence, this makes the wisdom easier to accept. In fact, it may be the only way they will take it seriously.

This matters because not everyone can—or even wants to—wrestle with old texts or sit long hours in contemplation. Some people want things in small packets. Five steps to happiness. Three hacks for focus. A quick formula. It is easy to remember. Easy to repeat. Whether they follow it or not is another matter. But at least the concept sticks.

And maybe that is enough. At the end of the day, the process is not as important as the benefit. You do not eat fruit to count the seeds. You eat it for the fruit. If a book on habits or therapy helps someone, then its roots in old wisdom do not matter much.

Still, I cannot escape the disengagement. Once I recognize the echo, my interest drops. I prefer going to the source. Sitting with it. Practicing mindfulness. Letting the meaning unfold in my own life. That practice has given me more clarity than any book. It shows me answers that are personal. Answers that shape how I treat people, animals, and nature.

So I return to this belief. Pick one source. Stay with it. Do not chase every shiny version. Practice mindfulness. Interpret for yourself. The wisdom will become your own. The knowledge will settle deeper. And in that process, happiness and peace will not feel borrowed. They will feel like they belong to you.