Unchecked introspection is exhausting. Thinking and thinking and thinking about how one thinks doesn’t do much but spawn anxiety and philosophers. I crave new perspectives as much as I tire of my own. I’m open to new thoughts because I’m bored of the old ones. Perhaps bored isn’t the right word—fatigued. A certain energy arises from fresh thoughts, as virgin neural pathways are sparked up, as synaptic nerves are tickled with a new fancy.
I (too) often preface a story with, “stop me if you’ve heard this before,” because to me, one of the cardinal sins, is to bore god. And repetition, while the lap of comfort, is also the enemy of novelty. I toggle (and waffle, and flip-flop) daily between craving comfort and needing novelty.
Repetition hones a story, tests it against malaise, ripens it for effect, and primes it for delivery. Practice makes perfect.
Novelty breeds improvisation, the thrill of not knowing what will happen next or how the story will end. It keeps the senses sharp and the wit sharper.
Every thought, every tale, is either one or the other—old or new, staid or spontaneous, familiar or frenetic. They’re both fine (and necessary), I suppose. I just need to learn to stop thinking about it.
All-Day Breakfast is a daily reflection on creativity and the human condition in the modern age. This is issue #254 of 555.
Join the All-Day Breakfast Club newsletter for sporadic updates and more!