Thinking is overrated. Maybe overrated is not the right word — how about tiring, although that says something altogether different. Yet, I tend to think about everything — literally, everything — in such detail, such tiring detail. It’s an OCD function, to be sure.
And with all these many thoughts flowing through my noggin, I am challenged to process and sort as to have some meaningful relationship with each one. Though truly, many a thought is unworthy of exorbitant attention, still I need to determine where priority lies in the realm of conscious consideration. I definitely don’t want to cheat a passing bliss, but neither do I desire to hang myself with an unworthy notion. It’s the point of processing that bogs the mind — it’s where the river bottlenecks and then overflows onto the banks of more meaningful living decisions.
Over the many wonderful years I have existed to date, I am becoming a master of thought. Like a”thought” Jedi, I can control the flow of information more easily, sorting, discarding, and logging for a later date. However, as I’ve grown older, the ability to store information for later retrieval has diminished. Now I face a deeper level of mental processing, beyond simply sorting into a category or two — I am now faced with mentally sub-categorizing. The act of taking a worthwhile thought and sticking it away for later use has become a dual-core function involving further processing and organizing. Woe is me.
So to conclude, I now accept (as I have for years) the fact that my computer-like brain, paired with my high attention to detail, tied to my chemically-screwed genetic structure will run at max RAM on all cores throughout my day. It’s neither a blessing nor a curse — it’s just the way God made me.