What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is a memoir by Haruki Murakami where he talks about two things that define a big part of his life: running and writing. Murakami didn’t always plan on being a novelist. He was running a jazz bar in his twenties when, while watching a baseball game, he suddenly thought, “I could write a novel.” He gave it a shot, it worked out, and he eventually sold his bar to focus on writing full-time. But sitting at a desk all day, smoking and not moving much, wasn’t doing his health any good. That’s when he picked up running. For Murakami, running is more than just exercise—it’s part of his routine and, in a way, a metaphor for writing. Both take endurance. Both are long hauls where you push yourself day after day, even when you don’t feel like it. The book follows him as he trains for marathons, competes in triathlons, and grapples with the slow decline of his physical abilities as he ages. He talks a lot about acceptance—accepting getting older, accepting bad race times, and accepting that sometimes you just don’t do as well as you hoped. His attitude is basically: That’s life. You move on. The writing style is straightforward, like he’s just talking to you over a coffee. He doesn’t dress things up. Sometimes he rambles, mentioning things like cycling habits or going off on tangents about global warming. At one point, he describes running the original marathon route in Greece—sun blazing, salt stinging his eyes, everything uncomfortable. But through it all, there’s this calm acceptance. He’s not trying to convince anyone to run; he just shares what it means to him. By the end, what sticks isn’t just the running or the writing, but the way he embraces both the highs and the lows—the post-race blues, the joy of finishing, and the satisfaction of something as simple as a cold beer after a long run. It’s a book about effort, routine, and learning to keep going, no matter what.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is a memoir by Haruki Murakami where he talks about two things that define a big part of his life: running and writing. Murakami didn’t always plan on being a novelist. He was running a jazz bar in his twenties when, while watching a baseball game, he suddenly thought, “I could write a novel.” He gave it a shot, it worked out, and he eventually sold his bar to focus on writing full-time. But sitting at a desk all day, smoking and not moving much, wasn’t doing his health any good. That’s when he picked up running. For Murakami, running is more than just exercise—it’s part of his routine and, in a way, a metaphor for writing. Both take endurance. Both are long hauls where you push yourself day after day, even when you don’t feel like it. The book follows him as he trains for marathons, competes in triathlons, and grapples with the slow decline of his physical abilities as he ages. He talks a lot about acceptance—accepting getting older, accept...

Even the smartest among us can feel inept as we fail to figure out which light switch or oven burner to turn on, or whether to push, pull, or slide a door. The fault, argues this ingenious -- even liberating -- book, lies not in ourselves, but in product design that ignores the needs of users and the principles of cognitive psychology. The problems range from ambiguous and hidden controls to arbitrary relationships between controls and functions, coupled with a lack of feedback or other assistance and unreasonable demands on memorization. The Design of Everyday Things shows that good, usable design is possible. The rules are simple: make things visible, exploit natural relationships that couple function and control, and make intelligent use of constraints. The goal: guide the user effortlessly to the right action on the right control at the right time. The Design of Everyday Things is a powerful primer on how -- and why -- some products satisfy customers while others only frustrate them.

Even the smartest among us can feel inept as we fail to figure out which light switch or oven burner to turn on, or whether to push, pull, or slide a door. The fault, argues this ingenious -- even liberating -- book, lies not in ourselves, but in product design that ignores the needs of users and the principles of cognitive psychology. The problems range from ambiguous and hidden controls to arbitrary relationships between controls and functions, coupled with a lack of feedback or other assistance and unreasonable demands on memorization. The Design of Everyday Things shows that good, usable design is possible. The rules are simple: make things visible, exploit natural relationships that couple function and control, and make intelligent use of constraints. The goal: guide the user effortlessly to the right action on the right control at the right time. The Design of Everyday Things is a powerful primer on how -- and why -- some products satisfy customers while others only f...