I feel burdened by the strength of my imagination. Whatever I turn it to, it contorts, magnifies or compresses, demonizes or glorifies.
Who was it that convinced me that I would enjoy driving a Ferrari? Who was it that convinced me later that I would be happy being a hobo begging for change and spending it in dive bars with strange and interesting characters? Who was it that made me scared of being attacked on the street at night? And a million other fantasies that I’ve never experienced.
Instead of taking risks and experiencing the rewards, I run through a simulation in my head and decide against it based on what I find there. Which is great because I get to experience all of the psychic pain that I would have if these bad things had happened, but I don’t get any of the rewards.
The only way I really get anything done is to go in blind, to jump without giving myself enough time to imagine the outcome.