Too many nights, I find myself wide awake. Most of them are spent mindlessly mulling over pursuits that, on the surface, are the intellectual equivalent of scrolling through memes that fail to amuse me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s a small, tired voice gently reminding me that maybe this isn’t the best use of my time. But that voice is easily drowned out by whatever pointless obsession has momentarily claimed squatter’s rights in my brain. Still, who among us isn’t occasionally (or constantly) distracted by something entirely ridiculous? We all have our little vices.
Of course, sometimes you just need to turn off your brain for a little while, right? Let it rest, recharge, and convince itself that you’ve earned a break. I used to think that too, but I’m not so sure anymore. “Resting” my brain has led to such monumental achievements as memorizing the entire Pokedex and perfecting my ranking of the top ten Star Trek episodes of all time. I’m not saying these activities lack value; I’m just saying they aren’t the best use of my faculties.
There was a time, sometime in my teenage years, when I believed myself capable of truly deep thought. In the face of a world that made no logical sense, I distinctly remember leaning into the idea that I had something meaningful to say. At this point, though, I can’t for the life of me recall what it was I was trying to say. Was I preparing to write the next great philosophical treatise, or was I just hyper-focused on writing angsty poetry about the meaninglessness of existence?
All I know now is that some things remain locked deep inside. So, every now and then, I try to crack open that safe only to find it’s full of nothing but dust and the occasional cringe-worthy memory. Yet, for all my self-proclaimed potential, I still chase down distractions like a cat chasing a laser pointer. If I’m being honest, part of this is because facing the world head-on is terrifying. It’s easier to hide in unproductive nonsense than confront what might happen if I actually did something with all this “potential.”
For years, whether out of fear, ignorance, or stupidity, I let myself be led astray by the selfish concerns of others. You know, those subliminal influencers who convince you that your time is best spent fulfilling everyone else’s expectations while you conveniently ignore your own. I had my moments of clarity, of course, where I’d think, “Ah, finally, I’ll get my act together!” only to immediately revert to reenacting space battles in my head instead of doing anything productive.
Clearly, I know I have plenty to say—more than enough to fill entire volumes if I could just sit down and write it all. The problem, of course, is that writing is hard, and it’s much easier to distract myself with mindless diversions. I’ve been playing an exhausting game of one step forward, two steps back for longer than I care to admit. At this point, it feels like every time I sit down with the intent to write something profound, I end up lost in something absurd. I’ll stare at the blank page, poised to unleash the deep thoughts I’ve been holding back for years, only to suddenly find myself swallowed up by the void.
Even when the words I need to find elude me, I feel like there must be better use for this grey matter between my ears than reenacting fictitious battles of angels and demons, star cruisers and space dragons. But perhaps, maybe those mindless things do serve a purpose after all. Maybe the endless stream of ridiculousness, these detours into absurdity, and my nonsensical obsessions are just part of the process. They’re not distractions, after all. They’re signposts on this weird, wonderful journey of imagination and tragedy I’ve been on all along.
It seems that I created this strange little creative world of mine for myself to hide until the time was right to emerge and, maybe, finally say what needs to be said. Really, nothing is as random as it first appears. The pointless diversions, the things I dismiss as mindless, are often the very things that help me make sense of the world. The trivial pursuits and space battles are my brain’s way of sorting through the turmoil of life. As I get older, I recognize that hidden between the lines of the ridiculous, there’s something worth saying after all.
In any case, I will always have something to say, and I really don’t have much of an excuse to not simply write every single chance that I get. The older I get, making better use of my time is more of a priority than ever. While I’ll never stop having some obscure curiosities – like debating the finer points of competitive ironing – I’ve made it my mission in life to share real life experience with actionable advice. After all, if I’m writing for nothing but entertainment, then I haven’t been very successful yet, have I?
~ Amelia Desertsong
