Have you ever wanted to turn your mind off?
You don’t want to stop breathing or living — no, you just want to stop thinking.
It’s not so much ideas or regrets. The former, I haven’t the slightest, and the latter, well — I find it difficult to regret life’s seemingly poorest decisions and occurrences when they’ve led you where you are and you’re happy where you are. And I’m quite happy where I am. Though, I think I could be happy anywhere. But that’s neither here nor there.
The point is stories. My thoughts are plagued by elaborate plots and far-off fairy tales, story lines that stem from the tiniest insignificant details and blow up into unpredictable possibilities. I use the term “fairy tales” loosely, for there’s no fabulous or fantasy to my thoughts. It’s just my life and anyone who’s involved in it, anyone who passes by, anyone who passes through.
I can walk into Bluestem Bistro, scan the patrons, and before I’m to the bar I’ve got four to six possibilities of how my time there will play out. Maybe that beautiful smile by the window will want to join me outside and she’ll be hungry and we’ll go have lunch at this place I know and we’ll go jump into the lake later because she’s into that kind of thing. Or maybe Steve will have a new joke and in laughing at it, I’ll meet those people in line beside me and we’ll decide we should go to Lincoln, Neb., sometime and why not now? And while there I’ll show them my favorite book store and the owners will be like:
“Hey, Adam, how would you like to take over for us?” Because they’re getting old, wouldn’t you know? Those would be just two of several story lines that would appear. And that’s just standing in line for coffee ...
Maybe I’m not even at Bluestem yet and those are just stories feeding from the Bluestem plot which in itself is one of several possibilities for the whole day.
It’s like one of those Choose Your Destiny books from the old Goosebumps stories — which were awful — that we read as kids. When one character has to make a decision, the reader selects his choice and goes to the respective designated page. Except I’m the character and the reader and I’ve read the whole book and I’ve followed all scenarios before ever rising from my sheets.
Seriously, some of the things that I come up with would never in a million years happen and others are just absurd. I mean my whole drive in life derives from a plot that played out in my head after seeing a squirrel scamper past me, scarcely seeing where he’s seeking, carrying a bundle of acorns. Where’s the off switch?
The worst part is, though, once I’ve thought it up I know it won’t happen. It’s just like a law of life or something. I can foresee things that will never occur, entire lifetimes of interactions and smiles that don’t exist, travels and games, loves and losses.
If it comes to me, it’s gone. And sometimes, that sucks.
Adam Reichenberger is a graduate student in economics. Please send comments to edge@spub.ksu.edu.
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