Thinkers, Sinkers and Buying a Whitewater Canoe
Thinkers are sinkers, that's what I always say.
All right, well, I don't always say it, but I just did, and it's definitely true.
Thinkers are sinkers, and you can trust me on that, because as a wise fourth grader once said, it takes one to know one.
Thinkers are sinkers, and often they're drinkers, too.
They're sinkers (and sometimes drinkers) because it's tough to tread water up there in a thinker's noggin, swirling around with all the waves of worries and bad memories and nightmares just waiting to come true.
I've never had the calm reserve, the "je ne donne pas un merde" to still the thinker's waves.
My Granny Phyllis, though, had it in spades. She lived to the ripe old age of 97, brow untroubled, as mild as a lamb. She used to drink coffee all day, making a pot in the morning and having her last microwaved cup at 11 p.m. Can you imagine drinking a cup of caffeinated coffee at 11 p.m.? I'd be awake until Labor Day, eyes darting around my darkened bedroom like a trapped rat's, watching the numbers slowly climb on my clock and imagining all manner of doom.
Being inside my grandmother's head must have been like floating on an inner tube down a lazy river. Mine is more like white-knuckling it in a barrel through the Colorado rapids after a storm.
But that's because I'm a thinker. And that's what thinkers do. We don't think our thoughts; we battle them, like sailors battling a treacherous sea. And as with waves in an ocean, those thoughts can be powerful, insistent, motivated.
Thinkers' thoughts can sink us. They can ruin things, sometimes, but usually only for ourselves.
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