Stream of consciousness (1)

I had so many things on my mind this week I simply cannot list them all. Every time I saw something a new thought was born, a new thought that would eat away at my brain until a newer thought came along and replaced the now old thought. It is exhausting sometimes. It keeps me up at night. Literally. I cannot sleep properly. Someone I know, she teaches biology, says it is because of the unusual weather at this time of the year, that our bodies suffer because nature is not healthy. I am not the only one with insomnia, it seems but I think the causes for my problem run deeper than just a poor adjustment to weather fluctuations. I also know people who are just fine because they don’t spend that much energy on thinking. They just do things, let the animal part of our being run the show and all they are concerned with is food, shelter and reproduction. That is why they are happy. Because they don’t need much to be happy. Whereas, us over-thinking people always need more, always have to overcomplicate things that are in fact very simple.

Humans experience all sorts of emotions in a lifetime, depending on the type of life they are leading. Some people will never know what love is, what being alone feels like, what having a family is like, what hunger is, what having too much looks like. A simple mind will never thing about those things they don’t have because they have no idea how life is with those things. And they will be happy. Of sorts. There are , however, those people who will always wonder what would it be like if the situation were different, if they had this or that thing, if they lived here or there, if they  knew him or her, even if they never had any of it.

All this begs the question: why the hell do we want more that we can carry? Why the need to be more than what you already are? Why can’t we just be contend with the little we got (a little that for some is quite a lot) and be happy already? And, if we are in the existential questions category, why are we so unhappy when all the so called improvements to our way of living are supposed to make our lives better instead of more miserable with every passing day?

Of course I want more. Who doesn’t? More clothes, more desert, more friends, more love, more everything.  I want it. You want it. Everyone wants it. Can’t have it. It is my firm belief, if we had everything, we would immediately find something to want, to be ahead of the person next to us, to be better.

The sad part is that all we want is palpable things. We don’t want stuff we cannot see. What use is knowledge if you cannot display it in a golden case? What good will intelligence and a rich imagination do if we cannot sell it; show it off somehow for everyone to marvel at?

You know what? I want things I cannot touch. I want information. It will not help me much to know what a person I haven’t talked to in a while is doing. It will not change the course of my life, it will not kill the virus I am fighting, but I still want to know. I want to know they are okay, they are happy, they are where they want to be and they have everything they need. That knowledge would make me happy, even if for just a second. Have you noticed that when you are sad and you find out someone you care about is okay, somehow things seem better all of a sudden? I feel sorry for those who are happy when they learn someone is in trouble. They say things like “I am glad I am not the only one who is miserable.” I have done it a few times and I feel sorry for myself for needing that to make myself feel better. As if it ever helps. When I cross the street, I sometimes wait until there is someone else crossing with me because, is a car speeds by it will hit us both/all. Stupid, right? Don’t know why I am doing it but I do it almost every time I need to cross a street. Almost.

 

Thinking too much can hurt, I think.

That is why so many just don’t. That is why those people will live longer than over-thinkers. Because they are not in pain all the time, because their dreams are simple; because their sleep is not disturbed by endless hours of thinking about how to make the world a better place, for themselves and fro those around.

Even if I know I will die in pain, I don’t want to be a mindless robot without any real expectations beyond food, shelter and procreation. Maybe I am wrong, maybe those three things are the only things that matter. Maybe that is why all the cultures of the ancient world, after creating so many wonderful things, died. Maybe it is better to be stupid.