On ideas
I let my thoughts run wild, the result is chaotic. Buckle up, we're going on a ride!
Illustration: Boomranng Studio for Nike
I’m looking at a blank page, running through my thoughts and trying to find something I could possibly write about. I attempt to focus on one thing at a time. I would love to be able to stop the constant flow of ideas, slow down my fast-thinking brain and explore this or that thought in depth, but as soon as I try to catch one, it’s already gone. My page remains empty and my brain and I keep doing that dance until one of us stops fighting (I guess I won, for now).
I love the feeling of boiling with ideas and random thoughts, having deep conversations with myself, and questioning everything, even if it’s ephemeral. The ability to stop the flow, pause my brain and focus on a singular thing, seems to be as useful as it is out of reach. I have listssss of ideas and reflections to develop, but they rarely pass the 1st paragraph, nay line, of development. My well-known and documented struggle to put thoughts on paper (see previous article for details). How many notes, journal entries, conversations do I have on the disorganised thoughts running through my chaotic mind? All jumping on top of each other to be the next ideas put down on paper, often resulting in nonsense writing.
It would help if you tried mindfulness, or meditation, or breathing 3 times when you feel submerged by your thoughts, said my former therapist (and probably my mum at some point in my life). Of course, I tried mindfulness, mainly because the word sounded smart; meditation is too hippy-dippy for me and after the 1st session (5 minutes in silence, applying myself to keep my head empty) I had a panic attack. The emptiness of my brain is just unbearable. I much prefer my racing thoughts. Deep inhale, sigh, and exhale.
Instead, I document the very thing I cannot do by doing it, in a probably confusing way for my poor reader. I write about my experience, I put down my thoughts as they appear in my brain and dread to re-read myself. I am yet another twenty-something woman, writing about her perception of life and how she’s looking for some purpose, struggling to navigate adulthood and her own realm. Ground-breaking, I know. I can’t help but feel ashamed that those are the only ideas I’m able to develop further than my usual 3 lines. But those are a) the only things I have experience with; b) the one thing I somehow enjoy writing, and c) reading or listening to those women's experiences and ideas is an infinite source of inspiration.
The more I’m trying to find ideas to write about, the more ideas I have. What a vicious circle. I feel like Verstappen on a flying lap. Passing car after car, until I’m in the lead. Only to lap the same cars again and again, in a race on my own, a race against myself. I’m typing, typing, typing until my brain is done, often mid-development of the previous thought. I feel lucky if I write 500 words before the words stop coming, before another idea takes over and drives me away in the sunset.