I’ve been struggling mightily with a post about how I’ve come to the conclusion that I am in many ways, that (apparently) most awful of female creatures—a pick me girl. But it’s a difficult topic. My brain is a bit wrung out.

I’ve been stressing over that post for a bit now—don’t want to stop updating the blog when I’ve just started again—and then just a couple of hours ago, I was driving home from a tuition session, and it suddenly struck me how calm I get when I drive.

The road was quiet. I was on the PIE, but it was late, and the black ribbon of tarmac was nearly empty, except for the devil-red taillights of an SUV here, a snazzy little orange-and-black hatchback there. The road winds. My favourite music plays. The route is familiar, and the other drivers considerate, and therefore distant, on the edges of my consciousness. I can almost predict the buildings, trees, even roadworks which will come up, before the actually appear in a flash and just as quickly slide away into the rear-view mirror, into the past now, like the universe is playing in double time.

It’s almost a disappointment when I arrive at my destination.

So instead of wrestling with that wretched blog post, here I am, running through a list of other activities which put me into that lovely flow state.

Creating characters

Yup, not “writing.” “Writing” is too broad a term. Very, very specifically, the bit I most enjoy, most of the time, is actually coming up with characters—or should I say, “discovering” characters. Really, it’s a fascinating process, where for no reason, out of the blue one day, a bit of a character will pop up in your mind. A voice, a line of dialogue, sometimes a fragment of their appearance, sometimes nothing more concrete than a mood. And then slowly, more of these elusive fragments appear—I might be casting about for their name, and nothing will feel right, until suddenly, a name sounds in my head, and I think, “Oh, so that’s what you’re called.” Sometimes, that name will bring with it more information—family history, say—or even a mood, such as an odd, inexplicable feeling of sadness. And that leads to more questions. Why doesn’t this character like their name? What happened to make this character who they are now? It really is endlessly entertaining, this slow piecing together of ghostly figures in my imagination.

Decorating my planner

Writing down the actual information and trying to work out schedules and timings? Not so fun. Stressful, in fact, sometimes, because my brain will start pulling at all the alarms and panicking about an event that’s scheduled for next week.

But getting out my markers and brush pens and stickers and washi tape and just, without any premeditated plan, without conscious thought even, putting all these pretty, decorative bits and bobs down onto the thick white paper? Lovely.

It’s like the hands and eyes finally get to work together without the overanxious meddling of the brain. Or maybe not just the hands and eyes. There’s something wonderfully satisfying and just, so pleasurably tactile, about that crisp crack/pop when a sticker peels off its page, and also when you lay it down, and smooth your fingers over its surface to get rid of the tiny air bubbles beneath it. There’s something oddly meditative about the process of subconsciously selecting different shapes, colours, silhouettes, and laying them down on the planner page, not worrying about where things should go, just putting them where I feel they should be—and almost re-emerging to full consciousness later, and seeing that the pages have been filled, the blank whiteness now busy with bright colour, and hopeful plans. And of course, there’s the sheer nostalgia. I think I will always associate stickers with surprised pleasure, because of that time my aunt came to pick me up from kindergarten, and dangled the sticker sheets she’d bought for me through the metal louvers of the windows. She was so excited to show them to me. I was so excited.

I love my stickers and my planner.

Playing video games

Of course this one makes the list. Where would I be without Dorfromantik or Stardew Valley or even Cultist Simulator nowadays?

I had a conversation once with a colleague who was just so staunchly opposed to video games. In general. On principle, I suppose. She kept saying they’re a waste of time. I asked her if she’d ever played one. She said no. And I thought, my god, you’re missing out.

Even something as “simple” or “basic” as Snake, for example—which I could cheerfully, unblinkingly play for endless stretches of time—has an elegant simplicity to its premise and hypnotic quality to the actual gameplay. It provides clear and instant feedback, too. You know instantly if you’re getting better at the game, or no. It’s an astoundingly, comfortingly comprehensible world. Pick up these pixels. Avoid smashing into those pixels. That’s it.

And then the “bigger,” “more complex” games—they’re worlds unto themselves. Each type of game provides its own comforting sort of other-world to slip into. My drug of choice growing up was always city-building games, or games like The Sims. The former provides a comforting, deeply satisfying, yet in no way threatening, problem-solving experience. The latter is built to offer so much open-endedness, so much aesthetic pleasure, so much satisfaction.

Come to think of it—hasn’t Tetris been proven to reduce the cravings one experiences during addiction? Other research seems to indicate that playing Tetris could have positive mental health outcomes too.

Well, yes. Anyone who’s ever enjoyed a video game would be able to testify to the positive effects of the activity. That’s why practically all other forms of media pale in comparison. That’s why it’s so hard to “wean” kids off video games. (Sorry, parents and teachers—we just cannot compete. It’s time we admit that.)

But I’m not here to craft a polemic. I’m here to enjoy these little activities—unproductive to some, puzzling to others, maybe—which nonetheless form little golden notes that hopefully, link up eventually to a good life.

I used to think about purpose a lot. What’s my purpose? How can I serve that purpose? What if I’m not serving that purpose?

I never realised that I was thinking about this purpose teleologically, as if “purpose” is some kind of magical end goal, some final state, that one achieves after finding the Right Path.

I’m wondering if that conceptualisation of purpose is not true. At least not for me.

Maybe there are multiple purposes in life. Maybe purposes change as we change. Maybe purposes are not Epic, Grand Quests, but tooling aimlessly around the game world, speaking to NPCs, collecting side quests and breaking pots because you think something cool might fall out of them. For that matter—some days my purpose might be to spend all day in the character creator!

Maybe my purpose is sometimes to enjoy those night drives. Maybe my purpose sometimes is to lay down stickers on a page, and appreciate the artistry of the people who designed these lovely things. Maybe my purpose, at other times, is to enjoy, without guilt or anxiety, the astonishingly detailed digital world which other, amazingly creative human beings have somehow put together for me to wander about in.

Maybe my purpose is to enjoy moments, and things, and people.

And you? What do you enjoy doing? What are your purposes?