Sunday 7 February 2021
The Toilet Roll Archives (23): An impulsive post on 'impulse', how creative and kooky can you get, Kerry? xo
I didn’t know what to write when I opened up this Word Doc. I was thinking about how much I miss being impulsive, and I figured I’d go with that.
I miss those lightning flashes where you just do what feels good in the moment. I miss the fierce rush of blood and the cold shivers and the heartbeat. I miss that warm, itchy feeling I get in the palms of my hands that I feel before I even realise what it is that I’m drawn to in the first place.
I suppose it is all in the very root of the word (lol, it
always is, Kezza!): “Im” is a prefix for ‘before’ or ‘into,’ and it’s coupled
with the word ‘Pulse,’ a word that emulates life in probably one of its most biological
definitions. Which makes sense, I suppose. When you actually say the word, “Impulse”
takes on a life of its own. It shoots from your diaphragm up to the back of
your throat, dancing across your tongue for a brief moment before you it spits
itself out into the air and disappears into the air like those exploding stars.
It’s that beautiful feeling of life before logic. I really miss that.
It’s a weird combination. I’m all about the logic, most of the time. I like being mindful and objective and forward-thinking. But there’s nothing quite like taking caution and throwing it into the wind – even if it’s just for a moment, even if I don’t do it very often. Because I miss the itchy warmth that spreads over my palms.
I love dancing in the kitchen with my friends. I love accidental nights out in jeans and trainers. I love road-trips-turned-live-concerts-featuring-us. I love uncontrollable belly laughs. I love clicking ‘Pay Now’ and ignoring the pit in my stomach that forms when I know I should be saving. I love the silent screams and the gritted teeth scrunched up noses of embarrassment. I love the hugs. I love the deep breaths. I love the middle fingers and “fuck its.” I love the free falls. They make the best stories.
I remember I read something recently called ‘Passion is the Problem’ and I see the point because passion is fundamentally ego and selfish. It’s all narrative, really. It’s the whole “I am going to do xyz” and never actually doing it. Passion is fragile and it exists for its own sake. Purpose, on the other hand, wants only what it needs, and what it can get. Thinking gritty, not giddy, gets things done. I like that version of myself. That’s the version of myself I can rely on. She’s pretty cool.
Developing and articulating a real purpose is where it’s at; passion is well-intended but it can be ineffective. And I think impulse lies somewhere in this weird limbo-liminal-middle. You do it because you think “eff it,” because not everything needs to have obvious meaning and purpose. But, I suppose “eff it” is a decision like any other, at that end of the day. That’s important.
I think it’s down to this weird self-evolution thing where every choice you make is a lesson and you take it and move forward. That itchy warmth that glazes your palms is more than just an “eff it” moment. Impulse requires passion, but there’s more than just that. There’s a little bit of thought in impulse. There’s deliberation, even if it’s just for a split second. There’s the teensiest bit of logic in impulse, when you think – even if it’s to go against it! Sometimes the most logical thing to do is to be illogical, right?
I miss that. Because the most impulsive thing I’ve done is signed up to do a half marathon* later this summer, which, upon reflection, is the least-impulsive-impulsive thing to do because it requires commitment and training and time and effort – but, hey ho, that’s Life Under Lockdown, I suppose. Almost a whole year inside. Wow. That post will be up before I know it.
Hope your January was alright and that the new month treats you kindly. All the love xoxo
*Doing this for the girls, the gays and the theys bcos there is no way I can let my brother beat me. You’re welcome xo