But one thing I've never understood is something my dear mama calls my "hyper focus".
I don't understand how someone who is very clearly an Avid Day Dreamer can enjoy spending hours doing the same, monotonous task such as ripping paper into even squares, or copying paragraphs from textbooks.
I don't know what possesses my mind to make it believe that mastering a rubix cube, memorizing world countries and capitals, or, more currently, the periodic table of elements is without a doubt amongst the top of my priorities. (Let alone FUN).
It does take a different form though.
In my senior year of high school, there were three things I wanted more than anything:
•To be in the top a cappella choir,
•To be elected into student council,
•To be accepted into a certain university.
Within the past few months, I've become conscious of a problem: a mutated form of tunnel vision.
I think tunnel vision can be a great quality for some people: you see what you want, there are no other options. Therefore, you do everything required to reach the end of that tunnel.
But my tunnel vision mutation not only switches off, but completely disconnects the helpful reminder in my brain that says, "consider your options."
When I essentially failed to reach all of my goals, I was absolutely lost. I searched for a fall back, but there was none that I was satisfied with because I hadn't constructed any "worst case scenario" detours in my tunnel. The only exit had closed, and I was trapped in the cold and the dark without any food or books for the long trek back to the beginning.
This focus literally exhausts me. I put so much energy in the mere act of wanting something, let alone in the steps it takes to achieve it.
But 'wanting' isn't the right word.
I didn't want to be in student council,
I needed to.
I don't like learning completely trivial information,
I have to.
And I don't simply fall for someone,
I throw myself off of a cliff and then fall. Hard and fast.
It feeds on my thoughts.
It eliminates my other goals.
It numbs my reason.
Now, I'm sitting here, almost wishing that someone would zero the counter, just so I can start over.
So the smoke that was coming from the end of the tunnel of what I knew to be a brilliant bonfire will stop choking me, and seep into my clothes and furniture instead, reminding me that there was a fire. That there was warmth.
Maybe a better reason for letting the smoke permeate my mind would be to remind me that getting so high off of my hopes leaves me with virtually no one to blame but myself when I come back down.
But I know myself too well to believe that would work; Instead of turning back around the other way, I entertain the notion of waiting to see if the end of the tunnel could possibly re-open--that I might restart the fire once it stops raining.