I have immunity from boredom. It’s like time is compressed for me most of the time. Regardless of the environment, I have the literal world in this little rectangular box I’m typing into. Music, opinion, language(s), ideas. Not to mention an endless supply of things and objects that can be reformed or used to occupy my hands and brains. I also have the entire outside world. I’m lucky enough to have a car that I can get in and go when I want. And still have two healthy feet to propel me. I’ve yet to take a walk where something interesting was lacking.

One of our worst attributes is that we tend to focus on what we perceive to be missing. Instead of the wild luxury that was not available for most of human history. The tendency to seek what we think we’re missing is also a great source of pain in our personal lives.

For those who like to think about thinking, it’s either liberating or debilitating. It’s existential and separating.

But because the internet can be a cringefest or a personal revelation, I sometimes don’t say the things that many of us have in common but never talk about. At least not authentically. Vulnerability is the undershirt that we hide under a thick jacket. Even when someone dares to strip away the ego-driven layer, we universally agree to look away or let our awkwardness keep us from diving in.

Because I do so much, I have an astounding amount of content floating around the internet without any attribution to me. Sometimes, it comes back to me transformed. Which makes me feel seen and heard in ways that I’m not in my personal life. It’s a constant staccato of surprise for me because the people around me have their own idea of who I am, reinforced by the experiences they share with me, molded by whatever environment we’re in. Most of those environments are not authentic. 

Love, X

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