Tag Archives: possibility

Breathe! Breathe in the air…

Breathe! Breathe in the air…

We run circles around ourselves in attempt to maintain order amidst the increasingly chaotic and overwhelming responsibilities that govern our existence. We chase our to-do list into a perpetual tomorrow, as it snowballs itself into a mountain of unsorted papers of things we should have taken care of but couldn’t seem to manage to find the time to complete. We invariably waste hours of our lives attempting to sort through these paper Mount Everests hoping to eliminate the impending sense of dread and failure by minimizing the amount of random lists and consolidating them into one giant new list, but then we remember all of the things on today’s list that also never got taken care of because we were making an enormously pointless attempt at litter-reduction — which manages to accumulate into a deepening feeling of doom on our heavy hearts and frazzled minds. It’s a circle-jerk, for lack of a better term.

Being low in the attention span department myself, this is highly autobiographical and yet I know without hesitation that it speaks on some level to us all. With the million gadgets and trillion sources of non-stop stimulation, we have become (collectively speaking) a species of Now-or-Never. The to-do lists are less literal than metaphorical, but it seems notable that our brains have acquired the capacity to perform best when overworked. While that sounds appealing, I’m not actually convinced it’s true. I think our brains were made just fine to begin with, and we’re all lying to ourselves if we claim that overkill is a necessary factor in our own ability to process information and effectively conduct all of our affairs in the most optimal fashion.

I think you should give your synapses a break from the ongoing madness of when you were supposed to get what done at which place before whoever needs a ride to that one thing and then the world falls apart because you forgot everything except the list consolidation.

I think you should join me and turn your phone off, leave the emails for tomorrow, put your mind on pause and go for a walk. Go take a hot bath. Read a pointless book, for no reason other than soothing the soul. Make some real food, with fresh ingredients, take three hours to cook it if that’s your thing, with some perfectly ridiculously wonderful music playing while you do it. Barefoot. Naked. Whatever.

Take a moment (or five-hundred and fifty-seven moments, consecutively) to let your spirit remember what life is supposed to feel like. You know; alive.

I promise, the to-do lists can wait one more day.





Everybody’s Last Name Should Be “DotCom”

Everybody’s Last Name Should Be “DotCom”

Who knew there are real-life conferences for real-life bloggers sharing real-life fantasy versions of why they blog, and who they are. An enigmatic oxymoron of sorts; a dichotomy dressed as a conundrum; frankly, the most dubious juxtaposition of worlds I can possibly fathom. And I rather dislike this vicarious experience, to be quite honest.

Isn’t the implicit anonymity of a blog somehow distinctively integral to its very appeal? I love the possibility of a particular writer being as poised, brilliant, sharp-witted and mysterious as their social media presents them as being… Which explains my disappointment once I discovered that such a conference is not merely hypothetical…

My senior year in college, I voluntarily took a C in my Logistical Metaphysics course, when I had earned an A all semester. I had spent months entertaining the professor’s bland and mundane notions that everything “real” had a practical, logical explanation; and that everything “supernatural” also had a practical, logical explanation. I spoon-fed that instructor every bite of what he wanted. I filled his ego with all sorts of empty confirmatioms that I was actually learning something from his lack of imagination. Did I disagree with him, about bigfoot being fake and ghosts being mere psychological projections of the observer? Not necessarily. But on my term paper, I finally cracked. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I wrote simply: “Whether unexplainable phenomenon are real or not, whether supernatural occurences are logical or not, I will still show my children fluffy dragons in the clouds. I will tell them trees dance because the wind makes them happy. I will see all the wonders of the world, the ones that won’t bear witness to a brain inside a box. Life is not about reality’s essence. It is about reality’s possibilities, in all its beautiful forms.”

I would hate to discover the wizard behind the curtain. I like to believe in Oz.