Here’s the thing: I think too much. It’s not necessarily a bad habit, of course. But it is challenging. I spend too much time in my head, I imagine, I wonder, I live there. I get unusual ideas, and I stick to them for some reason. I come up with ridiculous notions, that just won’t go away. My thoughts are like an infection, that overpowers my mind. Again, that’s not a bad thing. It just sounds creepy.
It wasn’t always like that. I used to be a man of action. In many ways, I still am. Or maybe I am “again”. But back in the day, I acted before I thought. I didn’t just trust my instincts, I relied on them so much, that at one point I had to stop whatever I was doing, and think to remember how I got here. It doesn’t happen anymore. So you tell me if that’s a bad thing.
My life was just a series of individual moments, which crashed on me like waves of a stormy sea, each lasting just a short while, each being a complete story of its own, some bigger, some smaller, some fun to sail on, some breaking the boat altogether. Now living inside your head? Well, it’s like sailing on the calmest waters. It’s constant, it’s peaceful. You’re moving slowly, but you can go wherever you want.
It’s not without its own problems, though. When you think too much, when you stay inside your mind for too long, you start to forget how to talk to people. It’s not about loneliness, it’s about communication. Remembering what happened, or what you only imagined happening. Playing conversations in your head so many times, that you no longer remember what you did and what you didn’t actually discuss. So you stop talking to people, because you discover that it’s not only time consuming, but also you can play their part better than they ever could. And it works for some time, until you realize, that something is missing. You can agree and disagree with yourself over and over again, but it eventually becomes sterile, scripted. You start recognizing patterns, and once that happens, you become bored of yourself.
Because you see, people are chaos. In all of that hierarchy that we created, the system we live in, all the rules and limitations, people somehow keep changing. They are the chaos, that keeps shifting its form. If you disconnect yourself from it, you give up that chaos, and the excitement, refreshing uncertainty that comes with it.
And here’s the joke. By the time you realize what you lost, you can’t get it back. The oldest joke in the world. You don’t remember how to talk to people, what information to share, what to keep to yourself. You think different from others, so you talk different. You notice different things, laugh at different jokes, value different qualities, you live a different life for that matter. And I’m too tired to start over.
I do have friends, of course I do. I still enjoy a couple of cold ones and a BBQ. I can talk sports, politics, sure. But part of me always remains dissatisfied. I hold back, because all those things that I might want to say get lost when I filter my thoughts through my limited understanding of what is appropriate to say, and what might make it the last BBQ to which I was invited. I don’t know with whom to share the thoughts that I know I can’t share with friends from the university. More than that, I don’t remember anymore if one should have someone with whom to share those thoughts, or should they always and forever stay inside? Or even whether they should’ve been thought of in the first place? Where the intimacy ends, and the solitude begins? What’s the difference between the two?
So here’s my idea: I’ll share those thoughts with anybody. Well, everybody who will be willing to read them. May seem counterproductive, but, ironically, it’s well thought-through. I’ll share everything. Things that annoy me. Things that entertain me. My fears, dreams, and things I can’t understand myself. Maybe someone will read it? You’re reading it, right? And you will put those thoughts in a mind of a shell of a man. Not knowing his history and the circumstances other than what I choose to mention, you’ll get to create your own version of me. And in the end, when the time comes, you’ll see for yourself what kind of a man I am, then you’ll tell me: do you know me, have you ever been me, and if you can, what will happen to me, and I’ll finally have someone to talk to.
Or maybe nobody will read it. Maybe I’ll just be talking to myself alone? Like I’ve been doing for years? Well, it’s up to you.