We’re all complicated, aren’t we? Layers of history, emotion, hurt and wisdom, all wrapped up and tangled together in a beautiful, unique... mess.
I’ve been thinking about this. It’s the one thing the AI bots of the future won’t be able to recreate, I reckon - that undefinable, illogical, intangible puzzle that makes us us.
Or maybe it’s just me? Maybe other people are more straightforward? I only really know about me after all; which is rather the point isn’t it? But it’s not just me is it, who’s a complicated ball of stuff?
What was simpler than being a complicated ball of stuff, was me opening up my MRI results this afternoon.
“What does it say?” asked my Mum. I skimmed the letter, eyes flicking left and right.
“It says there’s nothing in my head after all!” I replied, translating.
“I thought it was supposed to be news!” she beamed cheekily, not missing a beat. Funny lady.
Anyway, it is the all clear. Hurrah! I’m normal. I said a prayer, a thank you, and then I told my Dad. Hopefully, the doctor will have some advice on how to cope with stress-migraines then. Perhaps he’ll tell me to stop trying to figure everything and everyone out all the time.
I think that’s fair enough. Not every puzzle is there to be solved, not every work of art is there to be analysed. Life is messy, complex and difficult, but it’s also beautiful, a glittering fractal of elegance and social interaction. I think if I’m going to stop overthinking everything, I ought to learn how to enjoy it in all its complexity and all its wonderful messiness.
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