Let’s Go Crazy

Are you what the world would call “responsible”? Do you call yourself an “adult”? You own a calendar and actually use it—I mean on your phone, of course, let’s not be too crazy. You set an alarm and—repeatedly hit snooze, let’s be fair—but eventually obey it.

But is there ever a moment when your mind whispers, What if I didn’t?

Didn’t answer that email.
Didn’t fold that laundry.
Didn’t pretend I understand what “circling back” means in meetings (no one knows—we’re all just circling… somewhere).

What if I went a little… off script?

You have to wonder who wrote the script anyway, because it’s not a great one. The plot is thin, the dialogue is cliché, and somehow there are way too many emails. Maybe this time you forget your lines. Maybe you sing instead of talk. Maybe you dance instead of walk—and not gracefully, either. I’m talking full commitment. Confuse a stranger.

Don’t you think maybe it’s time to go a little crazy?

Not “burn your life down and move into a van in Death Valley” crazy (unless you’ve already checked van availability—in which case, respect). I’m talking about something quieter. More precise. The kind of crazy that won’t get you arrested, but might get you a few concerned looks from your neighbors.

The kind you don’t know how to express… so it leaks out sideways.

Like eating ice cream for breakfast, pizza for dessert, and then writing a very serious poem about it while standing dramatically in the rain, as if you’re the main character in a film no one funded. Or closing your eyes, pointing to a random place on a map, and driving there—only to discover it’s a dentist’s office. So fine. You get your teeth cleaned. You commit to the bit.

Because here’s the thing: we spend an inordinate amount of time being normal. Absurdly, aggressively normal. It’s almost impressive. If normal were an Olympic sport, we’d all medal.

We pay our bills, but we don’t pay ourselves.

And not just financially—something deeper. There’s a kind of internal debt that builds up when you keep editing yourself down to something acceptable, predictable, normal. It doesn’t get paid with productivity or good behavior. It gets paid with honesty. With a little weirdness. With moments where you stop asking, “Is this appropriate?” and start asking, “Is this alive?”

Normal keeps things running. Trains arrive. Meetings happen. Emails are… sent. But normal does absolutely nothing for your soul.

Your soul doesn’t want destruction. It wants play. A tiny rebellion. A moment where you stop optimizing yourself like a human spreadsheet and instead act like a raccoon who just discovered a fully stocked trash can and has absolutely no intention of being dignified about it.

We don’t really have recess anymore, which feels like a design flaw in adulthood. No one tells you to go outside and do nothing for a while. We don’t stare into space nearly enough. We’re always doing something instead of being something—usually something tired.

We follow rules made by people we don’t know, for reasons we barely question, and then wonder why everything feels a little… flat.

We’ve gotten very good at being functional. Responsible. Predictable. Somewhere along the way, we confused that with being alive.

I’m a professor. I’m also absent-minded and a little nutty. I’ve had students write songs for me and perform them in class—fully committed, no explanation, no apology.

You know that song “We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel? He lists world events up to the 1980s. I have my students update it—from then to now. 9/11. COVID. Everything. Extra credit if they actually sing it in front of the class.

Those are the moments they remember. Not the polished slides. Not the perfectly structured lectures. The weird stuff. The alive stuff. That’s what sticks. That’s what teaches.

We’ve become something like robots—but not the cool kind. Not sleek, efficient, futuristic. More like slightly glitchy office robots who open twelve tabs, forget why, and then attend a meeting about the tabs.

And now with AI, we don’t even have to pretend to think as much. We outsource it. Delegate it. Automate it. Which is convenient—until you realize thinking was kind of the whole point of having a mind in the first place.

Discipline and consistency are good. But so is doing something wildly unnecessary and a little irrational just to prove you still can.

I’ve probably been indoctrinated too. Some days it really does feel like we’re living inside The Matrix—just with worse lighting and more emails. Other days it feels like what some traditions call maya—an elaborate illusion where everyone is taking everything very seriously for reasons no one can fully explain.

At this point we’re all just taking something—vitamins, antidepressants, caffeine, small chemical negotiations with reality—trying to stay functional inside a system that feels slightly… off. 

And the strangest part is how linear it all becomes. Wake up. Work. Eat. Scroll. Sleep. Repeat. A perfectly organized loop that somehow manages to feel completely unreal.

And I’m not above any of this. I fall into it constantly—the ho-hum, the banal, the repetitive routines we quietly agree to call a life. I may even be a little unhinged, but sometimes I don’t think I’m unhinged enough.

Every once in a while, though, I interrupt it. Just enough to remind myself I’m still here.

Going crazy, in this sense, isn’t losing control. It’s choosing, for a moment, not to be so tightly held together. To loosen your grip. To miss your mark on purpose. To say the slightly wrong thing in the slightly right moment.

To pay yourself back.

And honestly—

that might be the only sane thing left to do.

nina

A couple of friends and I started a podcast called 2 Curries and a Ranch. Listen here: https://2curriesandaranch.riverside.com/  or wherever you get your podcasts.

Imagine two loud, dramatic, hilarious Indian women explaining to a white man what it's like to grow up and live in America. Join us for the laughter, deep thoughts, and witty banter about life, love and culture. We tell it like it is, with honest, bold and funny stories, discussions and arguments. We explore boundaries and challenge norms. Join us for a good talk.

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