The voices… boy do they got a lot to say. “I can’t do it. I don’t know how. I’m tired. I’m no good anyway, so why waste my time? No one will care. I should be doing something. I should BE something. If I was one of the cool kids I’d buy a 1994 T-top Camaro, get it running, reupholster the seats with teal velvet and spiff it up with a gold metal-flake paint job. Then I’d really be living.”
Until then, though, I’ll be here on this sofa mindlessly stuck in a loop between checking email, Insta, twitter, email, then Insta again. I can’t allow myself to get bored. Something terrible might happen. I don’t know what, but the unease of that keeps me planted here like a sea squirt who absorbed its brain when it found a spot on the seafloor and set down roots once and for all.”
Yes, sea squirts really do digest their brain after they’ve planted themselves. That’s about what I fear will happen to me if I stop moving even for a moment. I’m not allowed to be bored ever.
But that’s just me. Do you fear boredom? What prevents you from being present to the immensely rich detail and possibility of each moment? Because… it’s there.
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