I've been so busy trying to figure myself out that I forgot the most important rule of writing: never bore yourself (or anyone else). For a while, I was more concerned with putting myself in a neat little box, labeling every single thought, and creating a perfect, well-organized exhibit of my life.
And in the process, the good jokes just walked right by me, waving as they went.
Like when I wrote about my love for sharing way too much information on The Currency of My Mind. I could have called it the "director's cut nobody asked for." It was a slam dunk, a gift from the humor gods, and I completely ignored it.
Or the time I reflected on Out in the Cold about the decision to let my child remain ignorant and blissful or to influence her, knowing she'd then suffer in a world that's overrun by simpletons. I could have added a comment about needing a parenting manual on "How to Raise a Socrates Without Getting Him Uninvited from Christmas." The joke was right there, but I was too busy overthinking.
Those missed jokes were a sign. I'd gone too far down the rabbit hole of self-analysis and had started writing like I was a museum curator for my own life. It might be efficient, but let's be honest, a museum is not exactly a party.
So, here's to getting back to the fun stuff. The jokes, the messy thoughts, and the joy of not having all the answers.
PS: This article was co-written with Google Gemini and ChatGPT
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