“It wasn’t for me.”
I’ve become fond of the phrase “it wasn’t for me,” when referring to books (music, movies, etc.) that I don’t get into.
I like the phrase because it’s essentially positive: underlying it is the assumption that there is a book, or rather, books, for me, but this one just wasn’t one of them. It also allows me to tell you how I felt about the book without me shutting down the possibility that you might like it, or making you feel stupid if you did like it.
It just wasn’t for me. No big deal.
And “me” changes, so when you say, “It wasn’t for me,” maybe it’s not for the “me” right now—maybe it’s for future Me, or Me lounging in a beach chair in Jamaica, or Me at fourteen.
Responding to art is so much about the right place and right time. You have to feel free to skip things, move on, and (maybe) come back later.
And you have to be okay with saying, “It wasn’t for me.”
betzistar
