“In a way that’s something to be proud of- like always.”
-Ray Bradbury, The Last Night of the World.
The internet, our one true source of pseudo-authentic worldly knowledge, defines a Sunday driver as “a slow and laid-back person who appears to be sightseeing and enjoying the view as he drives, holding up traffic in the process” as in “I’m a Sunday driver, and I’m sorry. I just can’t bear to go faster.” or “Move over, you Sunday driver, we have things to do unlike you!”
It is a phrase that perfectly sums up all of us Type B personalities (the relaxed and the reflective) trying to make our way in what always seems like a pointlessly frenzied, tumultuous and erratic world, predominantly led by Type As (the impatient, the fierce and the competitive). Ofcourse, none of us belong exactly to one or the other- the world is frustratingly grey about everything- but we all have our inclinations. I semi-proudly declare my allegiance to the former.
I often wake up when the most productive part of the day is over, both literally and metaphorically. I work at my own, comfortably slow pace and politely disregard people who nag me to catch up. I firmly believe that the larger fraction of life shouldn’t be taken seriously and constantly treat it as a cosmic joke. I generally refuse to strain if I find something boring or insignificant. I talk out of context. I miss deadlines.I also find myself asking the question “what’s the hurry?” a bit too frequently.
What does all this make me?
According to parental and peer consensus, it makes me lazy and perpetually lost somewhere in the depths of my own mind. According to psychology, it makes me a classic Type B .
I don’t even have the arguments to disagree with any of that.
I am, allegedly, a Sunday driver and honestly, I am sorry for the traffic.
Since I’m so easy-going, I am also painfully distracted a lot, which brings us to the thought bakery bit.
It frustrates me to no end how many incomplete ideas I have on an hourly basis. I start thinking, introspect, skip a few ingredients, mix-up the recipe and abandon it somewhere along the way, knowing the cake is going to be, at best, meh.
With all that forgetfulness and lack of intellectual commitment, my ideas, perceptions and contemplations are, many a time, unappetisingly half-baked. To provide an alternative metaphor, lets say I routinely miss the train of thought and neglect its schedule everyday.
Being a member of the laid back lot, I do get over my failure at deep thought very quickly but I always wish my attention span was broader than the width of a coin. (a penny for my thoughts? haha?)
It is such a pain to not be able to properly structure anything. I learnt to live with this quirk of mine, existing in scatters and enjoying the mess.
Home was a happy life.
The college environment doesn’t comply with this mindset. It has irrational demands and the need to be madly on time. It is the big, burly man in the car behind my Sunday driver, threatening to kill him if he doesn’t hurry up.It is the critic that brutally reviews my baking in the newspapers.
And so I must learn.
My thought bakery must get its menu straight and my driver must learn to drive speedy because even though there is nothing wrong with being perfectly Type B, I must, and should, sometimes be a reasonably productive person and try to find meaning instead of waiting for it. Its about time I caught the train.
You learn a lot of things about yourself in college. The most important among those is that change, in fact, is possible for everyone. But absolute change is both undesirable and unnecessary. Frankly, its stupid.
Adapt, live and always enjoy the ride, my friend. And since we have started sounding preachy here, go seek your great perhaps and live in the moment.
I’m done. With this blog, not life. Not yet. I think.