I just spent the last hour of my life scrolling through Instagram reels.
An hour-long IV drip of Numb straight into my eyes; outsourcing brain function to an algorithm that wants me to cringe, laugh, and jerk off – in that order. At one point I found myself bargaining. “I’ll only like and save the cultured reels, the ones of old movies, jazz musicians, or performance art pieces.”
I told myself that this is positively impacting my level of education somehow. That the pot of gold at the end of this doom scroll rainbow was a cleaner algorithm, one with more Charlie Parker and less butt cheeks. It was an honorable cause.
Maybe I should’ve snapped out of it after watching that one video of the guy spinning a burger on an umbrella with one hand and then using the other to throw a Nicholas Cage sequin pillow over his head into a basketball hoop behind him. But frankly, that was quite impressive (and also a sentence that has never been written before in the English language) so it deserved a second watch. No, it was not that video or the one of the horse giving birth or the man losing a finger to a baby gator’s death roll.
The video that snapped me out of it, my sign to stop, was the one of this dude in his early twenties playing the flamenco guitar while simultaneously using it as a percussion instrument. Alone, he sounded like an entire band. It was mindblowing. It was inspirational. It made me think “how does someone get that good at anything?” Probably not by scrolling through Instagram for an hour.
The shame of realizing that the age gap between us is dwarfed by the gap in skill and talent, that’s what snapped me out of doom scrolling and brought me to my computer to write.
It’s funny to think about the things that can spark motivation or change a perspective. I’ve been having a lot of those moments lately. Probably because things in my personal life are less than stellar right now.
I’m doing my best to compartmentalize the bad and focus on the good. I have good days and I have bad days, but even in the good days, there are subtle reminders that I am struggling. The doom scrolling is one of those signs.
Just yesterday I found myself at the beach at sunset. Alone. The intention was to go on a nice run, but I ended up sitting on the boulevard, staring out into the water, thinking. That is never a good sign.
Here’s a little insight into men – if you ever see one looking out into the ocean, by himself, that man is going through it. Go give that man a hug. He needs it.
It’s in these moments I look for solace, for comfort, for a sign that things are going to be ok. Lucky for me, I did get one.
On the way back from that very sad beach “run,” I found myself stopped at an intersection. I was thinking about the state of my life, thinking about what my future will look like, mentally edging myself deeper into depression with thoughts of self-loathing and regret. At the crescendo of my self-pity, my concentration was broken by the blaring sounds of two ambulances rushing through traffic on the way to the hospital.
In one (or both) ambulances there was someone in peril, or perhaps even dead. It shook me. Here I was, feeling sorry for myself, thinking my life is approaching rock bottom, and mere feet away, someone’s life was actually ending as they zoomed past me.
In that moment, I realized that this was the sign I was looking for. This was the universe or God telling me that things could be much worse, so I should be grateful for what I have. And in that moment, I was grateful.
The universe killed this person, just to give me some peace of mind.
Thank you universe. You do work in mysterious ways.
I wonder if that person knew. Do you think that would bring their family some peace? To know that their loved one was put on the Earth for their death to serve as a sign for someone?
Maybe I should call them. I think it could help with the grief.
“It’s ok kids, I know it’s sad that daddy died, but I needed some self-actualization. So, let’s call it a wash?”
I wonder who I’ll be a sign for. Maybe I overdose and my body is found by an addict and that’s their sign to start living a clean life. Maybe I’ll die in a car crash and that is what gets a teenager somewhere to stop texting a driving.
Oh! Maybe it’s something cool like I get struck by lightning multiple times and the sheer improbability of the event triggers an existential crisis for an onlooker who is forced to re-examine their career choices and decides to quit their job and pursue painting because life is just too unpredictable, fragile, and short to not at least try live out your dreams while you can.
Yeah, that would be a good one.
Lando Writes Sometimes 