The latest step in my self-improvement venture is to always articulate my ideas. I am no longer allowed to leave my thoughts vague and unrefined. Instead, they are required to be put into words and clearly defined. This doesn’t necessarily mean they have to be fully fleshed out or the subjects of essays, but they do need to be noted and written. I’m keeping them in a Wunderlist pile called “Essays” but this is actually the first that I have begun. The rest are mere bullet notes. Still, their existence makes me happy. I can now remember what I mean when my wandering brain chances upon something I think was significant, and I have the immediate mental stretch of really figuring out what I mean.
The main concern in doing this is to get rid of “floaty superiority.” Floaty superiority is when you believe that you are thoughtful or retain faith in a certain idea, when no ideas were actually created. When an idea first comes into form, it’s vague and floaty. It is the answer to a question, or a question in of itself. But if it is not hauled down to earth, onto the page and into words, it remains this indefinite mass. At the moment of its birth, on the very fringes of the brain and on the precipice of becoming actual thought, it has the most possibility. It is infinite. It has not fully come into being, so it could be anything. Maybe it’s the best idea ever, one that will solve all our problems and promote the thinker to high status, remembered throughout the ages. It has that potential, while it is lurking on the edges, not yet in view.
Only when faced head on, encircled and inspected, can we know what that idea truly merits. And more often than not, the idea is disappointing. It’s not as good as we thought it was, its possibilities narrowed into one. Maybe it’s decent, worth something. Worth sharing, even. But maybe it’s not worth anything, and will be systematically destroyed, guns pointed 360 around it, so the whole thing disintegrates at once. All that remains is a sad taste in the mouth, and a sting to the ego. A single fading tally mark is its only survivor, fading next to others under “Rejected.”
I don’t want to love my floaty ideas. I don’t want to dwell on possibility and be distracted by infinity. I don’t want to stay in that place of nonexistence. I want to create, I want to think. I want my ideas to take form, and I want to dump words over that form like a coat of paint, covering it and making clearer its outline against the rest. And then I want to harvest it, put it in my “Essays” list, and move on. With a clear mind, I can create new ideas. Some will be annihilated and placed in “Rejected,” some will be carefully folded and later hauled out for further reflection. But all of you ideas in the floaty spectrum? You, you’re not allowed to linger. Come on out, you pussy. I want you, I want to kick punch you and drag you into the foreground. I want to stare at you, naked in all your glory. I want to judge you. And I want you to help me make this world a better place. I want your colors to surround me and follow me when I’m stuck in reality. More than anything, I want you to exist. Come into being, love. The water’s fine.