Courtesy of dreamlab7.com
There are many things that I dream about when I go out into the world: being an astronaut, conquering some great threat, or being just an overall good person. But what about those dreams seem unreachable? Why do we sit around and wonder if they will ever come true if they seem to be within our grasp?
I took an introspective look at myself recently and discovered that I could totally control my behavior. But what kept me from doing it before now? I knew that it “could” be done, but I had never “done” it… until now.
I think we look at ourselves and say what we think is a logical container on which we can eschew our emotions. We tell ourselves “One day, when we’re [strong/courageous/powerful/awestruck] enough, we’ll do that thing we’ve always wanted to do.” Why do we delay it, though? What makes us think that we aren’t strong enough to handle it right now – right while we’re thinking about it?
My first inclination is that there is not nearly enough confidence in the world. We’re taught that we’re nothing without numbers. For instance, on a whim, I decided to take my Mensa practice test. It was only a dollar, and I’ve spent far more money on far worse things. Since it was a sale, I figured it was a sign. I’ve always wanted to take it, and I had no good excuse not to buy a testing key.
When I took the test tonight, I got this result:
My Mensa Test Results (LML).
So, I began researching, trying to find out exactly what all of this meant. I’ll spare you the extra screencap and just say that it puts me in the 86th percentile, which means that I’m smarter(?) than 86% of the people who took this test… or are out there, in general… at least, in America… the USA, that is.
Mensa membership is often reserved for those in the 98th percentile. Which means I’d have to score on the official test at least better than an additional 12% of the population. Which means, I’ve got to have better cognitive thinking that millions of people. Millions. Over 700 million, if everyone on this earth took the test. That’s close to 1 billion people. I feel like it’s an incredibly high standard. It’d still be about 600 million even if we just counted the adults over 25.
Why does this number, though, frighten me? I think it’s from my youth: I always felt like being poor meant being dumber than the rest of the world. My worth was determined and measured, constantly, by my wealth (or lack thereof). I write about it a lot because that’s all I know. Consistently, I think about how to be smarter, faster, more agile, and more fluidly flexible than the next guy.
Which comes to the fact that I’m up writing at 5am (central time). It’s because I’m thinking so hard on solving some problem that I can’t even stop long enough to go to sleep. It’s not a worry so much as a brain teaser. It’s about traveling, and the best route, and the best method, and the best blah-blah-blah. I normally don’t travel because I get so stressed out trying to plan for as many instances as possible (i.e. if something goes wrong, then I feel like it’s my fault for being too slow/unthinking/unprepared/what-have-you).
But those guilt feelings, those angering thoughts, and those pitiful glares that I give to myself do nothing more than motivate me to find a better, faster, more efficient way to do things. Doing something is all I know how to do. Being lazy, lackadaisical, and static often result in me trying to do even more to think of how I can do something.
One day, I’ll solve some big puzzle, or find out that space really isn’t all that daunting and make it easily doable, or discover a new something-or-another. One day, all this overthinking and non-stop thinking will pay off. Until then, I’ll keep dreaming of the day when I uncover something wonderful.
Panic Attack Diaries 