I am a nerd.
«A nerd (adjective: nerdy) is a person, typically described as being overly intellectual, obsessive, or socially impaired.» says Wikipedia. And yeah, I am exactly that. Even more: I am a nerd for life.
It starts at the edge of my bed. Piles of books, 29 at the moment, and I’m not counting the countless e-books. Novels, short stories, reports, nonfiction, design, biographies, essays, you name it, I read it. I start like a frontrunner: enthusiastically, turning page after page, well into the night. The next day, crawling into bed, my mind is somewhere else so I’ll calm it with one of the other books. If I have not already bought another one to start.
It’s how my mind works. Like a young dog, chasing a cat through the park when suddenly… a squirrel! – turning around, chasing the squirrel. Then a duck. A sparrow. An elephant. My life is a fucking zoo. Except instead of animals they are thoughts, people, emotions, information. And this is my problem: I love them all.
I am always astonished when I meet people who are confident to say: This is all I want. And they write or act or cook exceptionally well. But it’s all they do. I couldn’t focus. I am just too curious about everything.
Instead I live a life of fragments and unfinished collages. Starting a chapter here, finishing another one there. To quote a fellow artist: You don’t get rich, you don’t get smart, but you die trying.