I make a promise to myself. A wish. A hope. A request for renewal. It's always a different promise. But mostly it goes– If I make this leap, I am inviting love and the reward that comes from accomplishing brave acts into my life.

The contrast between the quiet of the cottage– the only sound coming from birdsong and the odd indignant-sounding sheep’s bleat– and the constant, scratching noise inside my head was stark. It had been a particularly bleak week for news, after a particularly grim couple of years; I felt exhausted, and powerless. I looked at my laptop and my notebook, at my optimistic plans for this precious time, and felt a sudden jolt of clarity, borne simply out of bone-deep weariness, a begrudging admission that things could not continue this way, and a willingness to surrender accordingly. This endless scrolling, this constant consumption of information: it had to stop. I had to stop.

Most of the time when I read I want to escape: to go on an adventure, to be thrilled and satisfied. Other times (and I am often unaware of this craving), I need a book that makes me think--a book that perhaps asks more questions than it answers, but nevertheless has me feeling better about what I don’t know.

This is a list of those types of books. Thoughtful books. Books that are calm and comforting amidst chaos and confusion. Books that get readers thinking differently, yet don’t ask too much of them. Mindful books. Not books about mindfulness or its practice, but rather books that practice at being mindful.