There’s something oddly satisfying about highlighting a passage in a self-help book. That little swipe of neon yellow across a particularly profound sentence feels like a tiny victory, doesn’t it? Like I’m saying, “Yes, this right here—this is the nugget of wisdom that’s going to change everything.”
I’ve got a confession to make. My bookshelf is packed with self-improvement books that look like they’ve been attacked by a highlighter-wielding maniac. The pages are practically glowing with all those marked passages about morning routines, habit formation, productivity systems, and mindset shifts. My Kindle is even worse—digital highlights upon highlights, forming a virtual paper trail of all the life-changing advice I’ve consumed over the years.
And yet, here I am, still hitting snooze six times every morning, still procrastinating on important projects until the last minute, still scrolling mindlessly through social media when I should be meditating or whatever it is successful people do with their free time.
It’s not that I don’t want to change. God knows I do. Every time I crack open a new self-help book, I’m absolutely convinced that this one will be different. This will be the book that finally transforms me into that hyper-productive, emotionally balanced, physically fit person who meal preps on Sundays and never forgets to floss.
Take “Atomic Habits” by James Clear. I highlighted practically half that book. My favorite passage (which I can recite by heart because I’ve read it approximately 47 times) is about how tiny, incremental improvements add up to massive changes over time. One percent better every day for a year means you’re 37 times better by the end. Brilliant! Revolutionary! Exactly what I needed to hear!
Did I implement any of the habit-stacking techniques he suggested? Nope. Did I create obvious cues for new behaviors or make them satisfying as he advised? Also no. But boy, did I highlight those sections with enthusiasm.
Or how about “The 5 AM Club” by Robin Sharma? I was so inspired by the concept that I set my alarm for 5 AM the very next day. I highlighted all those passages about how the early morning hours were “holy time” and how this predawn routine would essentially make me superhuman. My alarm did indeed go off at 5 AM. I remember this because I immediately turned it off and went back to sleep until 8:30. But those highlights remain, taunting me every time I flip through the pages.
The problem isn’t limited to productivity books either. My copy of “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck” is absolutely riddled with highlighted sections about choosing what to care about and letting go of everything else. Have I become more discerning about my emotional investments? Well, I spent forty minutes yesterday worrying about whether my email to a colleague sounded passive-aggressive, so… that’s a no.
What’s happening here is something psychologists call the “illusion of progress.” By highlighting a passage, I feel like I’ve somehow absorbed or implemented the advice. There’s this brief moment of “Yes, I get it now!” followed by exactly zero actual changes in my behavior. It’s like my brain thinks noting the advice is the same as taking it.
My friend Zoe has a theory about this. She reckons highlighting is just sophisticated procrastination. “You’re basically saying, ‘This is important, but not important enough for me to do anything about it right now,’” she told me over coffee last week. “It’s like creating a to-do list for your future self, who you always imagine will be more disciplined than your current self.”
I hate to admit it, but she’s probably right. Future Me is always going to be amazing—organized, disciplined, motivated. Current Me just wants to highlight something insightful and then reward herself with a biscuit and a scroll through Instagram.
The worst part is, I know the advice in these books actually works. I have this colleague, Emma, who read “Deep Work” by Cal Newport around the same time I did. While I was busy highlighting passages about eliminating distractions and scheduling focused work time, Emma was actually implementing these strategies. She started blocking off two hours each morning for uninterrupted work, turned off notifications, and even got one of those timed lockboxes for her phone.
Six months later, she’d finished the novel she’d been talking about writing for years. Meanwhile, I had… a very thoroughly highlighted copy of “Deep Work” and the same scattered attention span I’d always had.
It’s not just books either. I’ve got a “Notes” folder on my phone filled with inspirational quotes and tips from podcasts, articles, and YouTube videos. I dutifully jot these things down like they’re sacred texts, and then never look at them again. I’ve essentially created a digital graveyard of good intentions.
My mum always says, “Knowing and not doing is the same as not knowing.” When she first told me this, I thought it was just one of those annoying parent-isms that don’t really mean anything. But the older I get, the more I realize she’s onto something. All this highlighted wisdom sitting on my shelf isn’t doing me any good if it stays trapped between the pages.
I think there’s also something comforting about highlighting. It gives us the feeling that we’re taking control of our lives, making positive changes, without the discomfort of actually having to change anything. It’s change without change—all of the self-satisfaction with none of the hard work.
Last month, I reached a particularly low point in this cycle. I caught myself highlighting a passage in a book about overcoming procrastination while actively procrastinating on a project due the next day. The irony was so thick you could spread it on toast. That’s when I decided something had to give.
So I tried an experiment. I took one—just one—highlighted passage from “Atomic Habits” and committed to implementing it for a week. It was a simple technique about habit stacking—attaching a new habit to an existing one. I decided I would do five push-ups every time I waited for my kettle to boil.
Was it life-changing? Not exactly. But it was something. For one week, I actually implemented advice instead of just noting it. My arms were sore, but I felt strangely accomplished. Not because five push-ups a few times a day is going to transform me into a fitness guru, but because I’d broken the highlight-and-ignore cycle.
This got me thinking about why we—or at least I—fall into this trap in the first place. I think a big part of it is that highlighting feels productive. It gives us the sensation of progress without demanding any real work or discomfort. It’s also reversible—highlighting doesn’t commit me to anything. I can always decide later that the advice isn’t for me.
Actually implementing advice, on the other hand, requires commitment. It means disrupting comfortable routines, pushing through resistance, and potentially facing failure. No wonder highlighting seems like the more attractive option.
There’s also the issue of overwhelm. Most self-help books are packed with advice—implementation strategies, mindset shifts, exercises, and reflections. Trying to implement everything at once is a recipe for failure. But it’s hard to choose just one or two things to focus on when everything seems so important and potentially life-changing. So instead, we highlight it all and implement nothing.
I’ve started a new approach now. When I read a self-help book, I still highlight (old habits die hard), but I force myself to choose one—only one—piece of advice to implement immediately. I write it on a sticky note and put it somewhere I’ll see it every day. Once that behavior becomes relatively automatic, I might add another. It’s slow going, but it’s better than a bookshelf full of highlighted advice that never makes it into my actual life.
I’ve also started being more selective about which books I read in the first place. Instead of jumping on every new self-improvement bestseller, I ask myself: “Am I prepared to actually do what this book suggests?” If the answer is no, I don’t buy it. No matter how life-changing the reviews say it is.
Look, I’m not saying I’ve solved this problem completely. Just yesterday, I caught myself highlighting a section in “Digital Minimalism” about the importance of regular digital detoxes—while simultaneously getting distracted by Twitter notifications. Old habits really do die hard.
But I’m trying to be more honest with myself about the gap between knowing and doing. Maybe that’s the first step—acknowledging that highlighting a passage doesn’t magically transfer its wisdom into my daily life.
So if you’re anything like me, with a bookshelf full of highlighted self-help books and not much to show for it, know that you’re not alone. Maybe the real self-improvement isn’t found in highlighting one more profound passage, but in finally putting the highlighter down and doing something—even something tiny—with the knowledge we already have.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some push-ups to do. The kettle’s just boiled.
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