I love surprises
On the limits and virtues of novelty seeking.
Photo by me: North Beach, San Francisco | Kodak UltraMax 400
I love when the day takes an unplanned turn–when I walk into a grocery store looking for oat milk and walk out with Ferrero Rocher. What a pleasant surprise! I jump, with joy, at the chance to think that thought. Even unpleasant surprises are better than predictable monotony, because at least they’ll leave you with a story to tell and a distinct impression to look back on.
My dad, at 61 years old, still returns from the store with random produce we’ve never seen, unsure of how to even prepare it. Where I questioned this behavior in the past (so unserious), I now see it in myself–in grocery shopping and in life.
The Case for Surprises
I’m happiest with my work when it surprises me. Half the time I start a video project, it turns out completely different than how I’d envisioned. If I spend too much time preparing for it, I lose some degree of excitement over how the final product will turn out. It’s no longer a “what if–!” but a “how-to,” a daydream turned problem set. Of course, to deliver something final you’ll still need to solve the p-set. Surprises just spice up the work from a grind to a journey, a sign that you’ve ventured someplace new.
Still, I’m very meticulous. I’ll pore over every detail until I’m satisfied. Spontaneity hits different when coupled with this tendency, because it’s an air of relief that what you’re doing is true–that there is something living and breathing behind the neurotic hyper-fixation required to make something you stand by. When you think slowly and mull over a decision, you trick yourself into believing that a correct one exists. That there are right answers and wrong answers. Of course, sometimes there are. But most of the time right and wrong are a false dichotomy. In creative pursuits the truth lies in what speaks to you and what you care to express. Oftentimes, these boil down to a gut feeling: something that arises spontaneously, without premeditation.
In track and field, coaches will have new sprinters stand with their feet side by side and give them a gentle shove. The foot with which the sprinter catches themselves is the foot they’re meant to start each race with. Quite literally, this practice forces runners to put their best foot forward. There is no thinking; there is no mulling. The decision happens on pure instinct, intuition, gut.
The Case Against Surprises
Sometimes I wonder how sustainable surprises can be, and whether my love for them holds me back from the fruits of discipline. Like, if I chose a niche and stuck with it I’d probably have a larger audience. Or if I’d chosen one medium and ran with it I’d be more established in a particular field. Instead I choose to surprise myself, to lean into inspiration and let that nudge me towards topics and formats. My first love was writing, which led to journalism, then movies, then video production, then video essays on movies, then narrative shorts, and now here I am: back where I started, with writing. Somewhere along the lines I also picked up photography and learned to code, and now I wonder if I've exhausted enough forms of creation already–if I’m just wasting time seeking the next exciting thing and getting pretty decent at it but never funneling down far enough to be the best. To be fair, wanting to be the best at something is a one-dimensional, western individualism coded pursuit. If you’re to look at it that way, through the lens of capitalism and all, jacks of all trades are inefficient and less lucrative in the labor market. But from an existential standpoint, leaning into inspiration and intuition–however scattered it may be–brings you closer to your truest self.
If I had to put a label on it, I think I was meant to be a filmmaker. It kind of combines all of the above and was the medium that first inspired me beyond repair. But the entertainment industry is [REDACTED]. What’s a synonym for “pretty fucked up”? See: Unpredictable wages, writers’ strike, nepotism, networking for days, jumping through a bunch of hoops waiting for your big break at the hands of someone else. I guess no one promised the world would be fair, but ideally I’d like to carve out a path where 90% of my work revolves around a craft–practicing it and thus getting better at the actual thing rather than the politics surrounding it. That leads me here–back to the drawing board, creating with no end in sight. Bookbear Express: “The price of getting what you want is living with what you want.”
Over the past few months I’ve ridden the ebbs and flows of burnout from my year-long stint of regular content creation. Working a full-time job at the same time doesn’t help, but it also doesn’t hurt as much as you’d think. It forces me to stay somewhat regulated and prevents me from spiraling, but yeah, my sleep is weird and a 9-5 obviously takes up time that I could otherwise be using to figure out this nebula of creative fervor.
Epilogue
In my hiatus, I return to writing. It’s the truest form of expression, the best way to bring thoughts into the physical world. I’ve now put my realest qualms and ambitions to paper, so here you go, this is me. Surprise! I’m not as chill as you probably thought. I mean, I’m pretty easygoing, but my internal monologue can be intense.
In reality, I break myself apart to enmesh with the world and put myself back together just to do it again the next day. Some days I forget or otherwise run out of time, and I then don’t feel quite right; I don’t feel like myself until I’m able to collect the pieces I’ve strewn all over the place in my search for novelty, in my wait for the perfect surprises. The breaking apart and putting back together is necessary. In sampling an indiscriminate pool of news and unknowns, I draw closer to that which is true.
