#teehee angst juice here-

[kaeyapilled]

What are some fics that you think are must reads for kaeya fans?

TEEHEE okay i think i have rec'd most of these before when i was asked for fic recs some time ago but its ok. here are the most kaeya fics ever in my opinion !

clouds in a lake by VelleRue

“Pot of butter,” Kaeya mumbles beneath his breath, eyes roving over the words. Alone, the words wouldn’t be very special. The shapes and sounds don’t scare him as much anymore, not like they did when he was new and wore shoes with torn soles and only knew how to say, My father told me he was going to buy grape juice.

Together though, they sound like the orange-yellow light of the oil lamp flickering in the corner. They sound like sticky fingers and bread rolls. Like a dinner table of three.

Cake and a pot of butter.

this one is so bittersweet and melancholic and i love all the headcanons in it and the way it's written oughhh it's a great read!! short but really good

stubborn roots by alexithymias

Kaeya’s plan to end his life is interrupted when Rosaria asks him to take care of a plant for a few days.

this one is heavier so definitely pay attention to the tags but, oh my god. this rewired my brain SO violently. i adore the concept and the characterization is really on point. it is so painful in all the good ways i like stories to be painful. i really recommend it!!

I'm gonna miss your love when it's gone by imaginarypasta

A selection of scenes from Kaeya's childhood related to his relationships with his fathers, and all they have led him to be.

im pretty sure ive rec'd this before but this is like, one of my favorite portrayals of kaeya and his bio father ever. its just so good. so delightfully sad. a breath of fresh air from the common headcanon that his father was an evil asshole. the kaeya & crepus bits are also really good and i like the author's hcs about khaenri'ah/the abyss SO much

not bad for a walk on death's doorstep by b_attery

Fear is a knife’s edge. Fear is a killer. Fear is how you know you’re still alive. Kaeya Alberich, not yet Ragnvindr, knew how to fear before he knew how to talk. As the heir to the regency of a dead kingdom, a spy-in-training to be sent to the surface world, as the last hope of Khaenri’ah – there were many things to fear. And later, as the Cavalry Captain of Mondstadt and a traitor no matter what he chose, Kaeya Alberich ex-Ragnvindr knew that as long as he lived, he would be afraid.

i have definitely rec'd this one before. but i just really love it!!! my comment on the bookmark says "literally the best kaeya character study i have ever read" and yeah that still holds up. shaped a lot of my kaeya hcs. i love this author

Hundred-Watt Light by pepperjuice

The first time the thought occurs to Kaeya he is eleven years old. Well, that’s not exactly true. It had been twisting in the back of his head for a long time, already. Formless and unspoken, an ever-present awareness, a whisper. But the first time it rings in his head, put in words, bright and shiny and just behind his eyes—

He is eleven. *** A story about ten years of contingency plans and holding your own hand. (Because how else are you supposed to live with a weight too big to hold all alone?)

OH I MUST HAVE REC'D THIS LIKE THREE TIMES BUT THIS IS REALLY A MUST READ. first of all heed the tags because it touches quite heavy topics! but this entire concept is SO interesting to be explored in kaeya's character and this author does it SO well..... this is one of my favorite fics, like, ever, lmao. absolute kaeya must read To Me

Lamellae by scripturient

A slowish movement in a discordant key, wherein Kaeya has bitten off rather more than he can chew and needs significant help; meanwhile, malady exposes buried memory and dread. A limited plot from a limited point of view which dabbles in themes of pain, trust, angst, conflict, and betrayal. Not quite a character study.

the writing style in this one is SO cool, i love it! non-linear narratives are my thing, i never get tired of it. and the whump in this is so good.. i like whump fanfiction, lol. the combination of characters in this is really fun as well, though everything is told from kaeya's very disoriented point of view. anyway, amazing exploration of his character!! the next work in this series, The thaw that comes in springtime (plus the next next work!), is also really good and i loved it, particularly the ragbros bit lol. another must read!

undertow / oversight by MercuryPoisoning

In which Kaeya gets by with a little help from his friends.

another one i feel ive rec'd before, but i love it. really good characterization!! especially his relationship with diluc!!! really good read. i love this author's stuff a lot lol. (bonus by the same author, and another one i consider a must-read even though it's still in progress and also way heavier than most of the previous recs: sleeping marble lion! i really like the writing style and the concept!!! pay attention to the tags but trust me it's a delightfully gut wrenching one<3)

whew. i think i have a few more i could have added here. i just went through my bookmarks lol i have read a decent amount of kaeya fanfiction. hope these are to your liking!!! fic rec'ing is one of my favorite activities

[hey-its-cweepy]

💞🥰 CarolChohee

🤝😟 MellowMomo

Hello hello! :)

You are going to absolutely hate Dallas for what I have in mind with Mellow x Momo if you don't already :)

CW: Violence mention (Momo and Mellow part only)

💞🥰 Cheeks + Gently

Cho-Hee was having a particularly bad day, staring at some of the scars that covered him from head to toe...

He wishes he didn't have them sometimes, but he'd rather have the dog attack him than his sister. Sometimes he wonders if people would be less intimidated by him without them...

To him, they are ugly, something that he'd rather hide away from the world, but it's an impossible task since they're all over him. On his face, his chest, his arms, his legs... He hated it...

Carol walks in on him as he's sulking in the gardens, he'd always go there if he didn't want to be seen by anyone...

"Cho-Hee, there you are! I was worried you-..." She paused for a moment "... Are you alright?..."

"U-Um..." Cho-Hee sighed, deciding to be honest with Carol "... Not... Exactly... I just think that maybe if I didn't have them, I could-"

"Cho-Hee..." Carol cuts him off mid-talk with a firm yet caring tone, her soft hands gently holding his cheeks as she makes him look her in the eye. "They don't deserve you if they're so easily scared off by how you look... I know you're one of the kindest people out there, sweetheart. If they're too scared to get close to you, that's their problem because they're really missing out..."

As Carol finished her words with a smile, Cho-hee leaned into her hands with teary eyes. "Do you... Really... Think so?..." He asked her.

"I know so." She answered, letting him pull her close to cry into her for a moment.

🤝😟 Hand + Worried

Mellow was just patching up Momo after what appeared to be an argument, she seemed insistent on keeping what happened a secret, rising some suspicion from Mellow...

"Y-You know... I can f-fix you up better in my d-dorm..." Mellow says, as he puts the last finishing touches.

"NO!" Momo jolted "U-Um!... N-No thank you, M-Mellow... Um... I-I think it's b-better I... D-Don't do that..."

"A-Are you sure? You seem pretty hurt and-"

"O-Oh! U-Um! L-Look at the t-t-time! I-I th-think my c-classes should be st-tarting soon! I-I'll see you l-later!" Momo nervously tried to slip away from the conversation...

"Momo, wait!" Mellow swiftly grabs her hand, a look of worry on his face.

Momo squeaks and turns to look at him, feeling very nervous.

"I-I don't know who the h-hell did this to you or if th-they're gonna do it again while you're w-walking down the h-halls or s-something like that" There seems to be genuine concern in his voice.

Momo feels upset that she has to hide this from him, but she'd rather go through it all again than risk Mellow getting hurt...

"I-I'm... I'm ok-kay... R-Really..." He struggles not to cry in front of Mellow.

"Momo... You know if something's wrong you can t-tell me..."

But Momo didn't want to tell him, Dallas already made it clear that there will be consequences... It was all because Dallas was jealous that Momo was starting to be friends with more people, after all, lots of people think Momo's cute in a way.

Dallas couldn't stand it, so he had resorted to violently picking on her, asking him what he'd do if it was someone else doing it to them. He called them weak, pathetic, hopeless...

Now she kind of feels like she's proving his point, but again, she'd rather not risk Mellow.

"Momo, please... If you c-can't tell me what's g-going on... At l-least let me p-properly t-take care of y-you..." Mellow pleaded.

"... U-Um-... I-I... Uh..." Momo was running out of excuses to leave the conversation.

"P-Please?..." He asked, a bit of hurt in his voice.

Momo seems very reluctant... She sighs, gently squeezing his hand "... O-Oh... O-Ok-kay... B-But only if you're th-there..."

"Thank you..." Mellow seemed a bit relieved as he quickly walks away with Momo.

Unbeknownst to them, someone was watching and he hated every second of it...

[guileheroine]

arcane thoughts

as usual, putting things down for posterity so i dont forget my fresh impressions!  [spoilers]

i’ve watched the show twice in the last ~week and i love it!

didn’t rly know anything going in (apart from hearing it was good) but what i didn’t expect is that it would fulfil one of my deepest narrative kinks: the intense, fucked up, tragic (found)family stuff here is my bread, butter, juice & jam!! vi & jinx, vi & vander (😖😖 i found them the immediate emotional core pre-timeskip), jinx & silco (😖😖😖!!!!!), vander & silco, it’s a LOT. the angst, the difficult loyalties, the being each other’s achilles heels of it all. front-and-center family dynamics in spec-fic are always a lance to my heart and few things have scratched this itch so good. out of a strong ensemble cast where i like everyone i’d prob pick those characters as my fav for this reason

jinx shouldn’t work as well as she does bc girl!joker isn’t usually my vibe wrt character types but the groundwork is solid, there’s much more going on than those aesthetics & her being ~teehee crazy! vi was my early fave (kids who act like adults are just ugh… the responsibility she felt not just for the siblings but also vander like. i cant think about it tbh), and maybe i’m still dean winchester-pilled but the eldest child x bruiser combo is simply elite, stacking that temperament over that backstory. kinda love how woobifiable they both are yes i will put them in a jar. the contrast between their trauma is compelling—jinx is erratic & indulgent, and frayed by silco’s influence, while vi clearly represses out of a sense of guilt/responsibility and prison survival mode. and then with all these divergences theyre just talking over each other, even tho they sort of want the same thing they dont know how to get there! irreparable (?) sibling drama! abandonment drama! knife and fork please!! (sidenote after wading into fandom a bit, im truly ecstatic they made complicated & mutually raw family dynamics the show’s centre, even tho it’s predictably not that legible to Fandom and its ‘ship/stan or bust’ orientation)

i think part 1 was the strongest — the whole show is tight but the later parts, as more of a setup for the future, don’t have a bow around them in the same way

ep 3 specifically was where i became thoroughly engaged, it’s like this masterful Greek Tragedy conga, definitely sth i’ll return to when i want to be emotionally hollowed out. just writing this makes me wanna go back 

mel is STUNNING, maybe the most aesthetically pleasing character design i’ve ever seen. saw a pic of her before i knew the show and i was like 😩😩😩. the gold accents, arm/thigh braces, goooorgeous. i didn’t find her as interesting until the stuff with her mum came in, but rewatching in that light rly endeared me. looking forward to how she squares what happens at the end of s1 with her anti-war convictions (if she survives). also would like to know more about what her brother was like?

deeply intrigued by what viktor’s Final Form will look like, he feels like a little gnaw on my heart when i think about the show. a quietly magnetic understated character. viktor and mel doing a lot of legwork in dragging jayce into relevance for me. solid ot3 potential there, but i also dig the two jayce pairings (the fact that i think he and mel have basically no chemistry but it’s still cute lol) jayce is cute tbh! and there’s that dash of overreach to all three that i adore, good foils

he talks shit but heimerdinger getting kicked off the council and scurrying off destroyed me, whyyy did they make him look like the devastating combo of old man + babie

plotwise, much to consider & my thoughts congealed better on rewatch- the class warfare plotline could go well, fingers are crossed. it’d be cool to see the piltover charas that are being positioned as heroes like jayce and caitlyn have their moral frameworks blown open and excavated more (bc there’s a point where the good cop naivete becomes odd/grating in smart grownup characters no matter how well intentioned). ensure the inequality, corruption etc is a character motive rather than an overly accentuated but ultimately incidental detail (im looking darkly at lok s1). basically ig i hope the show knows it hasnt set up a both-sides situation in its deep, sustained worldbuilding even if a few enforcers got blown up. likewise really hope they don’t file off the chip on vi’s shoulder just bc she’s working with piltover and jinx made a mess

one thing i had a little trouble with was silco’s motivations—if he wanted justice for the undercity then why the drug kingpin stuff that laid it low? i guess he’s pretty fucked up and the profit + power motive can definitely coexist with high ideals esp in a brutal survival context but now he’s gone i’m excited to see how the undercity charas negotiate their future, amongst themselves even more so than with piltover. also when he went to vander’s statue after the parley w jayce and drew that dad/daughter parallel hurgleee

sevika. she could be such a good anti-hero! im not usually a villain person but tbh no one really read as a villain. i wonder what underlied her striking loyalty and how she’ll configure her place w/o silco, and yeah better articulation of the zaunites’ motivations🙏🏽 

caitlyn/vi: good!! a normally paced gay ship comfortably nestled between ship tease and canon. the class dynamic they keep gesturing to is very tasty (the scene in the rain?? bollywood!) hope there’s more angst before it goes Canon canon— the ship has a lovely crackle to it and would be well served by a fuller contention w their differences (which are big + interesting even if theyve become close in a war-bond/chemistry way. otherwise yeah might feel like a disservice to the charas if swept under for ship preservation)

i neeeeed more ekko (and the firelights) loved their whole setup! no punk like solarpunk. wish we saw him with jinx more—would have made their charged reunion mega effective if we saw him with her as a kid the way we saw him with vi

the quality and density of the writing for such a short show bodes well. they’re juggling a lot very deftly so happy to give the benefit of the doubt wrt any nitpicks/worries. the characters all feel like dimensional and nuanced manifestations of their archetypes, in a way that makes me wanna keep a permanent distance from fanon bc i know how it goes there

the two vi/sevika fights 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽. the first time in my life that ive felt like an action fan. (also is there #content of them?? asking for a whore)

the pov shot of mel leaning in to kiss jayce is theee funniest thing ever, idk why i find them so funny (affectionate). that pov shot of vi when caitlyn strokes her cheek makes me want to kiss the animators’ feeeeet

whole show makes me wanna kiss the artists’ feet tbh. you can tell they got to express themselves, and all the stylistic stuff is super cool—rly works and the visual intensity didn’t put me off even tho it’s something i can find very overstimulating in the wrong show. it recalls spiderverse very strongly. i want to watch it on like a home cinema screen (rich people hmu). the gestures are so expressive and subtle in a way i often miss when watching animation (coming to cartoons from live action, i admit that ive never rly been convinced that cartoon charas can have a physical- not just textual- chemistry). this feels like the best of both worlds but it’s actually only animation. masterful

soundtrack slaps. the songs are used to great tonal effect. that sequence to ‘our love’ when the enforcers are coming in and vi’s going to give herself up was excellent and caused stirrings even when i had barely any attachment to the charas. the show is so cinematic. also i highly dont recommend carefully listening to the sting song in ep9 and thinking about the abandonment drama. 

grateful that it has really lit my fire as a fan!! it’s been a few years since i felt so engaged with sth that actually feels like a world, and not just for one or two aspects of it. i was honestly almost certain that i had just aged out of that kind of hyperfixation-excitement. very happy :D

in conclusion: 

[natiashakirkwood]

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing)

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing)

When I was a little kid, I had an idea about what the afterlife would involve.

I thought that after I died, I’d go to some place where a bunch of people, sort of like the chorus in a Greek tragedy, would show me film reels of my most embarrassing and uncool moments — picking my nose on the toilet, the time I farted in my boss’ face, that sort of thing.

It would be an epic circus of my humiliation, painstakingly documented by — who? minor deities? accountants of Hell? all the boys I ever had an awkward crush on? My immature theology was never quite clear on that.

The concept here is that some group of people is watching my every move, cataloguing it for posterity, and really really caring about it.

That sounds dumb, of course.

But isn’t that how we act when it comes to our own self-image?

I mean, isn’t that just basically Twitter, Instagram, and sharing all your workouts to Facebook?

Many of us at some point have operated with the core beliefs that:

We are being closely observed.

We are being closely observed by people who really, really care.

The people who really, really care are judgmental as shit.

We really, really care that they really, really care.

So we have to act in ways that don’t let those people find any flaws. We must be perfect, lest this committee make us sit in a plastic folding chair with our eyes propped open, watching footage of that time we fucked up a Powerpoint and pooped our pants.

Many years ago, every time I worked out, I’d imagine a group of Stumptuous readers tsk-tsking.

“How can she have such a lousy squat?”

“Yes, her butt does look terrible in those pants… and in all pants ever invented.”

“What a poser.”

To be clear, I was working out alone.

By myself.

Invisible to the internet (yes, youngsters, there was a time when that was possible).

Nobody cared about my dreams.

Nobody cared whether I was a bodybuilder or a powerlifter, good at bench pressing, whether I was doing 3 sets of 5 or 5 sets of 3, what % of my 1RM I was using, or what I had for lunch.

For that matter, nobody cared about my cellulite angst, my squat numbers (or any other numbers), my weight, my butt’s shape / size / dimensions / aesthetic correctness, or any other trivial detail of my life.

Unless maybe I stepped on their foot on the subway or played my music too loud or cut them off in traffic, then other people briefly cared about how my trajectory might be interfering with theirs. Until they didn’t care again.

And yet I acted like they cared.

I acted and thought like everyone cared. Deeply.

I acted and thought like the rest of the world was arguing about my relative merits in the same way that old men around the world argue about football on smoky Sunday afternoons in the local café — passionately, with excruciating attention to errors, narratively needlepointing every fine detail of every stat and movement, gesticulating to indicate displeasure with fingers stabbing into the air.

I acted and thought like everyone gave a huge wet-burrito shit about all of it. All of me. All of my life.

My dreams. My worries. My thoughts.

Like my life was some Truman Show with cameras everywhere, even inside my brain.

But it’s not.

Now to be clear, I don’t mean I am alone and unloved.

I’m not hurtling isolated on this bald blue planet through space, silently weeping because there is no God and I can’t address my thank-you letters for a sunny day to any particular cosmic customer service representative.

Well, there is no God, and saying “thank you physics for the photons” doesn’t quite have the same thrill, but the fact that 7 billion people in the world aren’t breathlessly hitting “refresh” to find out what amazing thing I am doing doesn’t mean I live in some nihilist cave.

I’m surrounded by caring friends and family, by people who are interested in what I have to say, and do, and who I am, and my opinions on Manchego cheese (delicious), the Middle East (I can’t even) or Saul Bellow (literary genius).

It’s just that what they love, care about, and are interested in has nothing to do with all the stuff I thought was important.

Stuff like:

How much weight I could lift (or not).

How fast I could run (or waddle).

How high I could jump (ha).

My clothing size.

My weight.

My (in)visible abs.

Whether I was doing X style workout or Y style.

Whether I was eating X diet or Y diet or not at all.

Whether I had been “bad” or “good”.

Whether I had accomplished my desired number of reps and sets.

Whether I had trained my core, or my posterior chain, or my stability, and exactly which method I used.

In fact, talking and worrying about all of the above, or related topics, makes you boring as shit. (Even to people who love you dearly and think the way you say “refrigerator” is delightful.)

In North America, we have a particular conceit. Which is:

We think our dreams are intrinsically valuable because they are our dreams.

If other people critique our dreams, or don’t care about our dreams, or don’t give us the right reaction when we grandly announce that we are following our dreams, we think they are hatin-ass morons who don’t care about our dreams.

Which they should! Because those are our dreams! All dreams are good and amazing and beautiful and worthy of slackjawed wondrous awe!

Stop and think about that for a moment.

Demanding unwavering allegiance to the correctness of dreams is what toddlers do.

Children are fundamentally egocentric. They have no context or comparison. Their small world is everything.

They will build an elaborate fort, announce that it is a spaceship, and scream you straight to hell if you tell them that it’s just a bunch of stupid pillows. You’d better buy in to that pillow ship, my friend.

Now, of course, in children, this is delightful.

I love watching kids create imaginary universes and live them. They encourage all of us cynically defeated adult bastards to believe in magic, if only for a few moments.

I also think imagination is a grand thing in general. I have a solid roster of mental adventure stories, starring myself as a pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon… or whatever.

But I don’t mix up imagination with reality.

Here’s what mixing up a child’s imagination with adult reality looks like.

You worry about being “good”. Or “bad”.

If you are “good”, it’s mostly for show. And doesn’t last. (Ta daaaa! Aren’t I behaving so much better than my little sister right now?)

If you are “bad”, you make confessions on the internet. (OMG! Here’s what I ate! Soooo naughty! Teehee!)

You think that magic is real — that there is a fairy-dusted mixture of sets and reps and macronutrients that unlocks the special door to Buffland.

You demand that all of us look at you! Look at you! Oh my goodness! You lifted like a big girl! So strong!

Oh dear! You did not lift as much weight as you wanted! So sad! You should punish yourself! You should have a tantrum!

You confuse a given outcome with intrinsic value — an “A” on your spelling test, a gold star for being a good girl, a pat on the head for nice cursive writing, a high-five for your bathroom selfie.

If this isn’t you, and right now you’re chain-smoking Marlboros, leafing through your mutual fund reports, and chuckling in a growly Joan Crawford voice about how you just can’t be arsed to care about anything — congratulations. Enjoy your eccentric, very grown-up performance artist / sociopathic life.

The truth is:

We all have a little bit of small child in our brains.

Most of us want there to be magic.

Most of us want other people to love us and give us gold stars.

Most of us want to perform well.

Most of us want to play by the social rules and win the game.

Most of us don’t want to be ostracized, “get in trouble”, or be the group weirdo.

Most of us probably just need some juice, a cuddle, and a nap.

That’s normal.

We shouldn’t kill off our imaginations.

Again, pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon. 900 degree Tony Hawk spin!

Rad, right?

We should, however, learn to distinguish child-brain from adult-brain.

And this includes getting clear about what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, and where reality will impose natural and necessary limitations on us.

Think about it this way.

Imagine a 4-square grid.

One dimension is “ego-gratifying”. This runs from “completely self-centered” to “selfless”.

The second dimension is “realistic”. This runs from “could do it right now, now problem” to “you have to break the laws of space and time to make this happen”.

So you can have basically 4 types of things (with lots of stuff in between along a continuum, of course).

Ego-gratifying and unrealistic. Basically you winning the world and having everyone notice. Awesome to imagine; don’t try executing any of these things seriously unless you want to become an obsessive, frustrated a-hole and have crying jags because you can’t free-dive a kilometre or walk around at 5% bodyfat all the time.

Ego-gratifying and realistic. Everyone needs a little bit of this one in their lives. But not too much. Maybe 10-20% of your activities and effort should live here.

Non-ego-gratifying and unrealistic. “World peace” and “Save all the whales” usually lives in here, unless “Save the whales” is really about you building some environmentalist empire, which is not that crazy if you see How To Change The World and realize that social movements involve a lot more dick-waving than you’d expect. Any genital waving bumps it back up to Category 1. Actually Category 3 is sneakily a lot like Category 1. If you’re a coach / trainer “just trying to help” by berating or pushing your clients in a noble martyred struggle against ignorance and sloth, you may think you’re #3 when you’re really #1.

Non-ego-gratifying and realistic. This is where most of your life should be if you want to be happy, sane, and functional. Of course, we’re not looking for complete self-erasure here in Category 4, or some weird trippy Zen state where you serenely declare that all is all.

So what lives in Category 4 — non-ego-gratifying and realistic?

Empathy and compassion — helping other people in ways that they genuinely need and want, as well as having compassion for yourself.

Intrinsic mastery — learning skills that you truly enjoy and find useful, slowly and consistently.

Beginner’s mind — being open to new ideas, learning, expanding your worldview, and being coached.

Seeking, getting, and taking feedback — using data, information, and the evidence of experience to make decisions.

Scientific reasoning — looking at evidence, thinking critically, avoiding magical leaps of logic.

Showing up for practice — just showing up. Plain old showing up. Being there. Putting in the reps. Doing what needs to be done. Not looking for shortcuts; realizing that the practice is the point.

Enjoying things for their own sake — having fun, playing, simply being present.

OK, look, I don’t mean to be a downer.

Living in the non-ego-gratifying real world is awesome.

You’re truly free.

If you know your dreams are silly and that nobody cares about them, YOU get to decide whether you try to manifest them.

YOU get to decide whether they’re worth giving a shit about.

YOU get to decide whether they should live in your head (yay) or live outside (yay), and you know the difference between what’s inside and outside.

If you know your dreams are silly, but you really want to do something, you can choose to replace them with less-silly ones. Get coaching and feedback from people who have the objective expertise to help you, and don’t pout when they guide you gently towards reality.

If you know your dreams are silly and you do them anyway, recognizing that they are utterly ridiculous and probably won’t amount to shit, we call that fun. We call that a hobby. Or an eccentricity. Silly pointless goofing around is how disc golf, extreme ironing, and Roomba Pong got invented. None of it was needed, but it sure does spice up life.

Pointless antics often form the fountain of creativity, as long as you don’t take them too seriously. (Check out the Stupid Shit No-One Needs and Terrible Ideas Hackathon.)

If you know that nobody cares, we also call that fun. Because play can’t be too concerned with the audience.

Most of the time, nobody is judging you because they’re too caught up in their own paranoia about their own embarrassing afterlife blooper reel.

You’re completely liberated from the weight of other people’s imaginary shit-giving.

Even if they are judging you, it’s cursory. It’s a brief blip before they return to their own rumination. So, no harm no foul.

What would you do if there was no “measuring up”?

If there was no social scrutiny?

No Truman Show cameras?

What would you do if, figuratively, you were alone in all the very best ways — the delicious kind of aloneness where you can wear your jammies with the peanut butter stains, and sing I Will Survive in your loudest voice, and pee with the door open, and be like Tom Cruise in Risky Business? That kind of dance-like-nobody’s-watching feeling?

Take that feeling, and bring it along with you wherever you go.

You don’t have to be alone and drunk-dancing in your underwear to feel it. You can choose to feel it anywhere, any time.

You can nurture that feeling of fundamental freedom and fun in any environment, with any pursuit.

There’s no final exam. There are no judges. There are few rules besides reality requiring that you face it.

And if you fuck it up, well… if there’s no God, there’s probably also no film crew.

  Me and some peeps from my boxing class, so concerned with serious appearances and impressing people.

Original Article:  Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing)

When I was a little kid, I had an idea about what the afterlife would involve.

I thought that after I died, I’d go to some place where a bunch of people, sort of like the chorus in a Greek tragedy, would show me film reels of my most embarrassing and uncool moments — picking my nose on the toilet, the time I farted in my boss’ face, that sort of thing.

It would be an epic circus of my humiliation, painstakingly documented by — who? minor deities? accountants of Hell? all the boys I ever had an awkward crush on? My immature theology was never quite clear on that.

The concept here is that some group of people is watching my every move, cataloguing it for posterity, and really really caring about it.

That sounds dumb, of course.

But isn’t that how we act when it comes to our own self-image?

I mean, isn’t that just basically Twitter, Instagram, and sharing all your workouts to Facebook?

Many of us at some point have operated with the core beliefs that:

We are being closely observed.

We are being closely observed by people who really, really care.

The people who really, really care are judgmental as shit.

We really, really care that they really, really care.

So we have to act in ways that don’t let those people find any flaws. We must be perfect, lest this committee make us sit in a plastic folding chair with our eyes propped open, watching footage of that time we fucked up a Powerpoint and pooped our pants.

Many years ago, every time I worked out, I’d imagine a group of Stumptuous readers tsk-tsking.

“How can she have such a lousy squat?”

“Yes, her butt does look terrible in those pants… and in all pants ever invented.”

“What a poser.”

To be clear, I was working out alone.

By myself.

Invisible to the internet (yes, youngsters, there was a time when that was possible).

Nobody cared about my dreams.

Nobody cared whether I was a bodybuilder or a powerlifter, good at bench pressing, whether I was doing 3 sets of 5 or 5 sets of 3, what % of my 1RM I was using, or what I had for lunch.

For that matter, nobody cared about my cellulite angst, my squat numbers (or any other numbers), my weight, my butt’s shape / size / dimensions / aesthetic correctness, or any other trivial detail of my life.

Unless maybe I stepped on their foot on the subway or played my music too loud or cut them off in traffic, then other people briefly cared about how my trajectory might be interfering with theirs. Until they didn’t care again.

And yet I acted like they cared.

I acted and thought like everyone cared. Deeply.

I acted and thought like the rest of the world was arguing about my relative merits in the same way that old men around the world argue about football on smoky Sunday afternoons in the local café — passionately, with excruciating attention to errors, narratively needlepointing every fine detail of every stat and movement, gesticulating to indicate displeasure with fingers stabbing into the air.

I acted and thought like everyone gave a huge wet-burrito shit about all of it. All of me. All of my life.

My dreams. My worries. My thoughts.

Like my life was some Truman Show with cameras everywhere, even inside my brain.

But it’s not.

Now to be clear, I don’t mean I am alone and unloved.

I’m not hurtling isolated on this bald blue planet through space, silently weeping because there is no God and I can’t address my thank-you letters for a sunny day to any particular cosmic customer service representative.

Well, there is no God, and saying “thank you physics for the photons” doesn’t quite have the same thrill, but the fact that 7 billion people in the world aren’t breathlessly hitting “refresh” to find out what amazing thing I am doing doesn’t mean I live in some nihilist cave.

I’m surrounded by caring friends and family, by people who are interested in what I have to say, and do, and who I am, and my opinions on Manchego cheese (delicious), the Middle East (I can’t even) or Saul Bellow (literary genius).

It’s just that what they love, care about, and are interested in has nothing to do with all the stuff I thought was important.

Stuff like:

How much weight I could lift (or not).

How fast I could run (or waddle).

How high I could jump (ha).

My clothing size.

My weight.

My (in)visible abs.

Whether I was doing X style workout or Y style.

Whether I was eating X diet or Y diet or not at all.

Whether I had been “bad” or “good”.

Whether I had accomplished my desired number of reps and sets.

Whether I had trained my core, or my posterior chain, or my stability, and exactly which method I used.

In fact, talking and worrying about all of the above, or related topics, makes you boring as shit. (Even to people who love you dearly and think the way you say “refrigerator” is delightful.)

In North America, we have a particular conceit. Which is:

We think our dreams are intrinsically valuable because they are our dreams.

If other people critique our dreams, or don’t care about our dreams, or don’t give us the right reaction when we grandly announce that we are following our dreams, we think they are hatin-ass morons who don’t care about our dreams.

Which they should! Because those are our dreams! All dreams are good and amazing and beautiful and worthy of slackjawed wondrous awe!

Stop and think about that for a moment.

Demanding unwavering allegiance to the correctness of dreams is what toddlers do.

Children are fundamentally egocentric. They have no context or comparison. Their small world is everything.

They will build an elaborate fort, announce that it is a spaceship, and scream you straight to hell if you tell them that it’s just a bunch of stupid pillows. You’d better buy in to that pillow ship, my friend.

Now, of course, in children, this is delightful.

I love watching kids create imaginary universes and live them. They encourage all of us cynically defeated adult bastards to believe in magic, if only for a few moments.

I also think imagination is a grand thing in general. I have a solid roster of mental adventure stories, starring myself as a pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon… or whatever.

But I don’t mix up imagination with reality.

Here’s what mixing up a child’s imagination with adult reality looks like.

You worry about being “good”. Or “bad”.

If you are “good”, it’s mostly for show. And doesn’t last. (Ta daaaa! Aren’t I behaving so much better than my little sister right now?)

If you are “bad”, you make confessions on the internet. (OMG! Here’s what I ate! Soooo naughty! Teehee!)

You think that magic is real — that there is a fairy-dusted mixture of sets and reps and macronutrients that unlocks the special door to Buffland.

You demand that all of us look at you! Look at you! Oh my goodness! You lifted like a big girl! So strong!

Oh dear! You did not lift as much weight as you wanted! So sad! You should punish yourself! You should have a tantrum!

You confuse a given outcome with intrinsic value — an “A” on your spelling test, a gold star for being a good girl, a pat on the head for nice cursive writing, a high-five for your bathroom selfie.

If this isn’t you, and right now you’re chain-smoking Marlboros, leafing through your mutual fund reports, and chuckling in a growly Joan Crawford voice about how you just can’t be arsed to care about anything — congratulations. Enjoy your eccentric, very grown-up performance artist / sociopathic life.

The truth is:

We all have a little bit of small child in our brains.

Most of us want there to be magic.

Most of us want other people to love us and give us gold stars.

Most of us want to perform well.

Most of us want to play by the social rules and win the game.

Most of us don’t want to be ostracized, “get in trouble”, or be the group weirdo.

Most of us probably just need some juice, a cuddle, and a nap.

That’s normal.

We shouldn’t kill off our imaginations.

Again, pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon. 900 degree Tony Hawk spin!

Rad, right?

We should, however, learn to distinguish child-brain from adult-brain.

And this includes getting clear about what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, and where reality will impose natural and necessary limitations on us.

Think about it this way.

Imagine a 4-square grid.

One dimension is “ego-gratifying”. This runs from “completely self-centered” to “selfless”.

The second dimension is “realistic”. This runs from “could do it right now, now problem” to “you have to break the laws of space and time to make this happen”.

So you can have basically 4 types of things (with lots of stuff in between along a continuum, of course).

Ego-gratifying and unrealistic. Basically you winning the world and having everyone notice. Awesome to imagine; don’t try executing any of these things seriously unless you want to become an obsessive, frustrated a-hole and have crying jags because you can’t free-dive a kilometre or walk around at 5% bodyfat all the time.

Ego-gratifying and realistic. Everyone needs a little bit of this one in their lives. But not too much. Maybe 10-20% of your activities and effort should live here.

Non-ego-gratifying and unrealistic. “World peace” and “Save all the whales” usually lives in here, unless “Save the whales” is really about you building some environmentalist empire, which is not that crazy if you see How To Change The World and realize that social movements involve a lot more dick-waving than you’d expect. Any genital waving bumps it back up to Category 1. Actually Category 3 is sneakily a lot like Category 1. If you’re a coach / trainer “just trying to help” by berating or pushing your clients in a noble martyred struggle against ignorance and sloth, you may think you’re #3 when you’re really #1.

Non-ego-gratifying and realistic. This is where most of your life should be if you want to be happy, sane, and functional. Of course, we’re not looking for complete self-erasure here in Category 4, or some weird trippy Zen state where you serenely declare that all is all.

So what lives in Category 4 — non-ego-gratifying and realistic?

Empathy and compassion — helping other people in ways that they genuinely need and want, as well as having compassion for yourself.

Intrinsic mastery — learning skills that you truly enjoy and find useful, slowly and consistently.

Beginner’s mind — being open to new ideas, learning, expanding your worldview, and being coached.

Seeking, getting, and taking feedback — using data, information, and the evidence of experience to make decisions.

Scientific reasoning — looking at evidence, thinking critically, avoiding magical leaps of logic.

Showing up for practice — just showing up. Plain old showing up. Being there. Putting in the reps. Doing what needs to be done. Not looking for shortcuts; realizing that the practice is the point.

Enjoying things for their own sake — having fun, playing, simply being present.

OK, look, I don’t mean to be a downer.

Living in the non-ego-gratifying real world is awesome.

You’re truly free.

If you know your dreams are silly and that nobody cares about them, YOU get to decide whether you try to manifest them.

YOU get to decide whether they’re worth giving a shit about.

YOU get to decide whether they should live in your head (yay) or live outside (yay), and you know the difference between what’s inside and outside.

If you know your dreams are silly, but you really want to do something, you can choose to replace them with less-silly ones. Get coaching and feedback from people who have the objective expertise to help you, and don’t pout when they guide you gently towards reality.

If you know your dreams are silly and you do them anyway, recognizing that they are utterly ridiculous and probably won’t amount to shit, we call that fun. We call that a hobby. Or an eccentricity. Silly pointless goofing around is how disc golf, extreme ironing, and Roomba Pong got invented. None of it was needed, but it sure does spice up life.

Pointless antics often form the fountain of creativity, as long as you don’t take them too seriously. (Check out the Stupid Shit No-One Needs and Terrible Ideas Hackathon.)

If you know that nobody cares, we also call that fun. Because play can’t be too concerned with the audience.

Most of the time, nobody is judging you because they’re too caught up in their own paranoia about their own embarrassing afterlife blooper reel.

You’re completely liberated from the weight of other people’s imaginary shit-giving.

Even if they are judging you, it’s cursory. It’s a brief blip before they return to their own rumination. So, no harm no foul.

What would you do if there was no “measuring up”?

If there was no social scrutiny?

No Truman Show cameras?

What would you do if, figuratively, you were alone in all the very best ways — the delicious kind of aloneness where you can wear your jammies with the peanut butter stains, and sing I Will Survive in your loudest voice, and pee with the door open, and be like Tom Cruise in Risky Business? That kind of dance-like-nobody’s-watching feeling?

Take that feeling, and bring it along with you wherever you go.

You don’t have to be alone and drunk-dancing in your underwear to feel it. You can choose to feel it anywhere, any time.

You can nurture that feeling of fundamental freedom and fun in any environment, with any pursuit.

There’s no final exam. There are no judges. There are few rules besides reality requiring that you face it.

And if you fuck it up, well… if there’s no God, there’s probably also no film crew.

  Me and some peeps from my boxing class, so concerned with serious appearances and impressing people.

Original Article:  Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing) published first on https://wellnessgeeky.wordpress.com