books on the train
little things: 7 January, 2026
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Most weekdays, between 7:45am to 8:15am, I’m on a train to my death.
And it’s not often that I’m awake during this time.
My alarm goes off at 6:40am, hit snooze at least twice, roll out of bed at 7:15am, spend a wee bit of time to get ready, take a ten-minute walk to the train and the moment at which my ass cheeks meet the disgustingly blue Sydney Trains seats which I am very fortunate to consistently get a seat for… I astral project the soul out of this fleshly cocoon and refuge into a black, restless realm until I hear “the next stop is Wynyard”.
Somehow, this wasn’t the case last Wednesday. It was an incredibly ordinary Wednesday. I woke up, got ready, sat down on the train and… didn’t feel particularly sleepy despite the four-ish hours of uncomfortable sleep.
I was a little tired. And in hindsight, I think I would have preferred to sleep. What was different this time was that I didn’t have that gumminess in my eyes, that stickiness where if you blinked for a little longer than half a second, your eyes would glue themselves shut via covalent bonds.
This wind that sparks me in the morning; I consider it a gift from God.
And I sure as hell didn’t want to use by God-blessed morning on doomscrolling.
Alas, I took out my Kindle.
I was reading The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson which is book two in his legendary Mistborn series.
It’s a bit of a chonker featuring 800 pages of modern fantasy across multiple viewpoints but it is really easy to follow due to its high-octane, scene-after-scene structure.
I was around 80% through, which is a ton of progress, but it’s taken perhaps three months to get to this stage and as someone who will proudly say they enjoy reading… is honestly a little embarrassing! Not to say that your level of reading is dictated by the speed at which you finish books but just a few years ago I would have been able to devour these in just two weeks.
But in that uneventful half-an-hour on the train, with the sun as scorchingly hot as ever but protected by an air-conditioned train, surrounded by other folks getting to their 9-to-5 and the faint smell of stale bread and morning breath — I managed to knock out perhaps two chapters of The Well of Ascension.
For a brief flicker, I was leaping alongside these wonderful characters in an incredibly-built world, standing right next to them as they fought, strategised, travelled, fell deeper in love… all while in a fast-moving metal tube. It was like one of those Audible commercials:
I had pressing things to do,
like what my clients at work need, like the dishes in the sink, like figuring out what the hell to do with my lease; and a few self-imposed things, like this newsletter, or creating collateral for social posts; which has kept me away from sitting down and really immersing myself into a fictional world. I’ve also had that mindset where I believe creation is better than consumption in almost all instances1, which is almost always correct, but perhaps not at this one.
These recent times I simply haven’t been in the mood (see: coughing my lungs to dust on the plane back to Sydney, requiring conscious attention at all times when navigating the South Korean public transport system) or have not been in scenarios where it’s so, so natural to do so (see: mid-2023 when I had to take the midday train towards my driving lessons — perfect downtime to read).
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Perhaps more notably, it has been a very long time since the mornings have felt like they belonged to me.
Yes, I’m aware that the best solution to waking up early is sleeping early, but I stubborn and reckless self just hasn’t done that — I keep thinking that I could force both but we all know that’s not sustainable so I do this epic dance of ice and fire where I wake up a couple minutes after my alarm tells me to and:
Brush my teeth with the force of a thousand zombies
Wash my face like the grass of a jackhammer
Shove a lunchbox from the fridge to the carry bag
Pick an outfit that presents how I’m feeling that morning (button up if able, t-shirt if not)
Go on my self-deprecating ten-minute brisk walk from the front door to the station concourse, muttering viciously under my breath at the guy who won a million dollars the Australian Open one-point slam because the tennis pro fucked up their serve.
It’s not that bad. It’s a pretty universal experience, even, that I so vehemently hate because why does none of this time feel like it belongs to me? I’m meant to clock in at 8:30am so why is it that my 7:00am - 8:30am feels so subservient to it too?
Alas, that inordinate Wednesday where I could read my stupid little book for thirty or so minutes — instead of throwing myself back to bed or opening Microsoft Outlook — felt really, really nice. Serendipitous, even, or a God-gifted whistle to inspiration to be inspired and elated and finally get to the end of this book that I’ve had on the backburner for so long so that I can finally start the year with a literal new page.
I like the lifestyle that I lead. I like the consistency of my 9-to-5. It does however, sap us in more ways than we recognise, one of which being the mental headspace we use to do things that require slightly more mental fortitude than scrolling reels (see: suspiciously relatable video below)
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As much as I like having a whinge especially about macroeconomic and capitalistic factors outside of our control, I also like, you know, actionable solutions that people like you and I can implement in our day to day lives.
Reading is a fun past time, and as a writer, reading is integral to the craft the same way that one cannot pour water from an empty cup — the cup being your mind, and the water or tea or coffee or alcoholic beverage you pour is the media in which you consume whether it be wonderful fiction books, insightful non-fiction, Substack posts that are awesome and uplifting, YouTube videos that are informative and entertaining, and conversations that nourish the soul. Alas, some actions from me:
Morning Pages i.e. three pages of handwritten, stream-of-consciousness writing.
I am happiest and most fulfilled when I am able to wake up in the morning and claim it as mine.
One way that I had been able to do so was via Morning Pages, popularised by Julia Cameron in her magnus opus of a book, The Artist’s Way — a book I should totally do a re-read of.
Three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing with no rhyme, no reason, no target whatsoever with the intention to splatter, stash, and never read again. Even in, or perhaps especially in our sleep, a ton of rowdy thoughts curdle like old yoghurt in our subconscious, and it is via this exercise that we can dump the old and make way for the new.
I’ve started putting said notebook and pen on my desk right before I sleep to minimise the friction as much as possible, which is a little activity called…
Priming — that is, making decisions to reduce mental fatigue for your future self.
Morning Sav is overwhelmed. He does not want to make any more decisions than he needs to. What I’ve learnt after trying to force myself to a big, air-conditioned room to lift heavy metal bars at 6am is that out of all renditions of Sav — morning Sav is the least interested in doing shit he doesn’t have to do.
Nighttime Sav has more openness and mental flexibility, and due to when he exists, has the unique opportunity to lessen the friction and change the defaults of he who comes afterwards.
This means placing my notebook exactly where it needs to be, putting relevant laptops into my work bag, having my lunchbox filled with more vegetables than necessary, having my outfit selected and hanging from the wall; small but permissible steps that help Morning Sav 1) only needs to put minimal effort to get the day started 2) has everything he needs to do what he loves.2
And I hate to admit it, but the grandpas and grandmas of the world are right:
In order to have a good morning, you must have a good night.
It all takes place the night before and that SUCKS.
Alas, there’s an initiative for me to sleep earlier than I usually do, and for the activities that take place before bed to be calm and nourishing, instead of traditionally productive or intellectually stimulating.
Sometimes, I try shove writing or life admin into nighttime, but really, it’s probably best to put reading in there.
A Kindle, with its paper-like screen and books that have already proven to be excellent, to go on an adventure in my own head that’s healing and unstressful and has this uncanny effect of stretching time — fiction is awesome in the way it is not just escapism, but perspective; not only seeing the world in different ways, but momentarily living different lives — all by looking at some predetermined combination of 26 letters.
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Writing clarifies. Reading fills. It’s incredible, is it not, that a mixture of this two can expand time and knowledge and empathy.
That uneventful Wednesday morning3 was one that really, really felt like mine — and I’d like very much to experience it again.
substacks that are just as good as reading a banger book on the train:
Good work, 2025. - by mallory contois 📂
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Hi there, thanks so much for reading. I’ve never been one for paywalling my writing — cause then it would no longer be ‘in public’! If you’d like to support me and for whatever reason show it via monetary means — a link to buy me a coffee is available below:
Dani Offline has a stellar post on this called everyone wants to be a DJ, no one wants to dance, encapsulating this feeling like early 2000s Calvin Harris
The view from my apartment is a train line and in this shot in particular it looks like a portal to a snowy land… so cute.
Ironically, I found out later on that that train I was on was actually delayed… meaning it was more of a 45-minute trip instead of a 30-minute trip, which explains why I was able to get so much more reading done than usual LOL. My point still stands though.
Ah! How did I just see this!? Lovely reflection and thank you for the mention :,)
thank you for mentioning me in your post sav :)