Understanding Hyperfocus and Obsessions

Hold on, hold on, hold on. I don't get to choose what I hyperfocus on

or

when I do. It's not like, "Hyperfocus, activate." Th- this isn't

some Power Ranger transformation where I morph into a productivity machine.

No, no, no. Hyperfocus is more like my brain suddenly shouting,

"Congratulations. For the next seventy-two hours,

your entire identity revolves

around the history of candle making.

Hope you didn't have any plans." It's not just, "Oh, I can only focus on the

things I like." No, no, no, that's cute.

Hyperfixation is when your brain decides out of nowhere,

"Hey, you know what?

We're gonna be obsessed with medieval farming techniques for the next two

weeks. Cancel everything else." It's like being a

temporary addict, but

instead of drugs, it's Super Mario Odyssey

or knitting your own

socks. A hyperfixation is all-consuming.

I wake up thinking about it. I fall asleep thinking about it,

assuming I even sleep

because hyperfocus doesn't care about your circadian rhythm.

It's 3:00 AM, I'm on my fifth YouTube tutorial about how

to build a birdhouse, and

I'm thinking, "Yeah, this is exactly what I should be doing right

now.

Who needs rest when you can be the best damn birdhouse builder in the tri-state

area?" And don't even get me started on trying to talk to other people when I'm in

the throes of hyperfocus. I become the most boringly intense person

on the planet. Someone casually asks, "How you been?" And suddenly I'm giving

them

a dissertation on the migratory patterns of penguins, complete with diagrams and

references. I can see the panic in their eyes as they

realize, oh, they've

triggered the penguin monologue.

They're looking around for the nearest exit,

and I'm still just getting started on

why emperor penguins are basically the Beyoncé of the bird

world.

And heaven forbid someone tries to pull you out of a hyperfocus.

I'm deep in my craft zone, hand-stitching a historically accurate

Viking tunic,

and someone dares to ask me, "What do you want for dinner?" Dinner?

My friend, I am sustaining myself on the nutrients of

obsession.

If you want food, you can eat this fabric scrap because

that's all I've got right

now. Then there's the aftermath, the crash when the

hyperfixation suddenly vanishes, and you're left standing in the wreckage

of your

own temporary obsession. It's like coming out of a trance,

looking around at

all the half-finished projects and obscure books you ordered at 2:00 AM.

You're surrounded by birdhouses or Viking tunics or whatever else your

brain

decided was your thing for the week, and you think, "What have I done?

Why do I have so many looms?" And of course, just when you've

achieved peak expertise, when you've finally mastered every aspect

of your

obsession, what happens? Poof. Your brain's like, "Eh, we're done here."

And suddenly all that yarn or all those origami frogs

or that encyclopedia-level knowledge of World War II battleships,

it's dead to you. You could care less.

But don't worry, you're off to your next fixation,

roller skating while learning Swedish.

Anyway, if you need me,

I'll be in the garage. I just got really into blacksmithing

because apparently I

want to become a medieval artisan, so pray for my neighbors.

He's so dramatic.