I used to have a fine mind.
It’s not like I was Einstein or anything, but I was certainly smarter than your average bear; I got excellent grades throughout my educational career; I was able to write lucidly on any number of topics; and I could hold forth at length on subject with real philosophical import, making reference to influential thinkers in the field and drawing conclusions that were as insightful as they were creative and original.
These days, it’s all I can do to follow the directions on a package of Top Ramen.
Years of overindulging and underacheiving have effectively smoothed out many of the vital folds in my brain; synapses that once fired like crackling summer lightning, now sputter damply; back in the day my grey matter glowed fiery red; these days you’d be hard pressed to record a glimmer on an EKG affixed to the frontal lobes; my stream of consciousness is reduced to a trickle; when my mind races, it never even leaves the starting blocks.
I suppose I should be bothered by this, but fortunately, I’m just too dumb to care.
Intelligence is probably overrated anyway; it’s not like the brain surgeons and rocket scientists of the world are enjoying themselves more than anyone else; it’s not even clear that their contributions to humanity are that much better than the rest of ours. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to add several dozen points (back) to my IQ; on the other hand, what’s so great about being smarter if you’re not happier?
Perhaps if I hadn’t wreaked such havoc on my cognitive abilities, I’d have an answer to this question; maybe when my mind was younger and suppler, I’d be able to wrap my brain around this inquiry and come up with a solution to it.
Alas; it’s not to be. There is one good thing, though: no one ever asks me anymore, “If you’re so smart, how come you’re not rich?”
It’s not like I was Einstein or anything, but I was certainly smarter than your average bear; I got excellent grades throughout my educational career; I was able to write lucidly on any number of topics; and I could hold forth at length on subject with real philosophical import, making reference to influential thinkers in the field and drawing conclusions that were as insightful as they were creative and original.
These days, it’s all I can do to follow the directions on a package of Top Ramen.
Years of overindulging and underacheiving have effectively smoothed out many of the vital folds in my brain; synapses that once fired like crackling summer lightning, now sputter damply; back in the day my grey matter glowed fiery red; these days you’d be hard pressed to record a glimmer on an EKG affixed to the frontal lobes; my stream of consciousness is reduced to a trickle; when my mind races, it never even leaves the starting blocks.
I suppose I should be bothered by this, but fortunately, I’m just too dumb to care.
Intelligence is probably overrated anyway; it’s not like the brain surgeons and rocket scientists of the world are enjoying themselves more than anyone else; it’s not even clear that their contributions to humanity are that much better than the rest of ours. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to add several dozen points (back) to my IQ; on the other hand, what’s so great about being smarter if you’re not happier?
Perhaps if I hadn’t wreaked such havoc on my cognitive abilities, I’d have an answer to this question; maybe when my mind was younger and suppler, I’d be able to wrap my brain around this inquiry and come up with a solution to it.
Alas; it’s not to be. There is one good thing, though: no one ever asks me anymore, “If you’re so smart, how come you’re not rich?”
No comments:
Post a Comment