Okay, so I might be exaggerating a tiny bit. (Or a lot.) But I am a little like da Vinci. See, we are both scanners. Yep. Scanners. Defined as “people whose unique type of mind does not zero in on a single interest but rather scans the horizon, eager to explore everything they see” by Barbara Sher who wrote the book (or books) on the subject.
Refuse to Choose
I Could do Anything I Want if I Only Knew What it Was
I’ve only read the first but it has given me a new perspective on myself. So while I might not quite be a modern day, female da Vinci, I do have lots of crazy random thoughts and projects going on in my head. (da Vinci was a painter, sculptor, architect, musician, scientist, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist and writer. See the comparison?) The problem is, of course, that’s where they stay: my head. I have no follow through. Like most scanners.
There is something kind of liberating about putting a label on my randomness. It makes me feel just a bit better about it. It could all be hogwash and I could just be someone with no real follow through, but at least I’m not the only one. There are lots of us scanners out there and it’s nice to have some clarity.
I am following some of the suggestions in the book “Refuse to Choose” including keeping a daybook so I can write down my ideas and projects. You would think a blog would be the perfect place for that, but these ideas are not ready for public viewing. They may never be. It’s good to get them out of my head and onto paper, though, in case someday I do want to follow through.
Blogging does help me clear the clutter out of my head, but I like the words and ideas to be somewhat formed before I unleash them. (Although, I guess that is debatable reading some of my previous posts.) No telling where this rambling scanner brain will take me next.
But every time I learn something new about myself, I adjust my path ever so slightly to take me where I *really* want to go. (Note: scanners have no idea what they really want.) It’s helpful, nonetheless.
Those moments of revelation slowly chip away at my facade, getting me closer and closer to the real me.
And that is all I want, really. To know the real me. To be real.