Rambling Brain Farts

Am I swirling alone in a vortex when I admit that although I have a very keen sense of the universe, I often feel unequivocally the dumbest person in the room? I really do not need comments from the peanut gallery here (and you know who you are), but how many planes of intelligence are there? This may sound like a very serious topic, but I assure you I am snickering sarcastically. High IQ does not always mean smart. Okay, so it may actually mean smart, but it does not assume the appropriate application of said smartness. Yes, it is late. And no, I have not been indulging in alcoholic libation.
 
I am most fortunate to have surrounded myself most of my life with inviting, inspiring, and intelligent people. I cannot begin to speak of the mass of knowledge I have absorbed merely by being in the right place at the right time with the right people. I have never necessarily been book smart or street smart, but rather life smart. Perhaps it is simply the power of observation that gives me such a unique perspective. Don’t worry – it is complicated even for me.
 
I do know I am a visual learner. I thrive on documentaries, biographies, true stories, and historical period pieces presented primarily on film. Of course, a good love story also heightens my grasp of life’s often peculiar lessons. Give me a book, however, hard copy or audio, and no matter how incredible the content, ninety percent of the time I will be either asleep by Chapter Three with little or no recollection of Chapters One and Two or lost in rambling brain farts about what I need to pull off Saturday night’s dinner. I usually blame it on an overactive brain, but I honestly do not understand what it is about the printed word that blurs my focus. Ironic, isn’t it, that I have chosen print media as my vehicle of expression.
 
One might argue I could suffer some level of ADHD rendering a difficulty with paying attention. Yet, I am a far cry from being hyperactive and have no trouble focusing on and participating in stimulating discussion. Could it be I simply enjoy the visual arts more?
 
In any case, my random inability to enjoy a good book haunts me. Even in my younger years, on vacation, it would take nearly three full days away from work, phones, and outside stimuli before my brain would unload. At that precious moment, I could put away three or four Stephen King or James Patterson books (I loved Alex Cross!) in a matter of days. Unplugging in the present seems next to impossible.
 
Thanks to my truly smarter-than-me friends, I am forging a real effort to reignite a thirst for the written word. It involves silencing my phone and turning off all electronic stimuli. This is not rocket science for me, as I write my blogs in the same environment. The difference is while writing it is essential for my brain to ramble and fart as I shear away the nonsense to find the good stuff. Comprehension while reading, contrarily, requires a total focus of thought.
 
Instead of life smart, maybe I am just a bumbling idiot with a keen sense of the universe. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.
 

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