It’s 7:55 PM.
It’s cool in our apartment. A little too cold. My fuzzy socks are providing little barrier against the icy wooden floorboards, but it’s perfectly alright when I have the luxury of perspective. There’s a forest behind us, where a woodpecker has drilled a thousand not-too-suspicious holes into its sacrificial tree, and there’s the nightly song of frogs and crickets lingering like phantoms among the leaves and bark. Reasons to stay, and write, and think, without complaint, without a single want left in the tank, and a burning hunger to spill today’s thoughts as they come, like the most stubbornly slow sand through the most complicated spiraling hourglass.
The spot next to me on my couch is empty. You’re welcome to come sit, if you’d like. I have an espresso machine, so I could make you a coffee. I’m a “drink coffee all day and night” kinda person. I don’t have any limitations on coffee, and I find it very funny when someone finds it really strange to love drinking an espresso late at night. I’m an early bird, but honestly, with this Next Chapter I’m pursuing, the natural spool of creative energy that rushes through me unwinds and releases all kinds of imaginary threads through my conscience in the late hours of the night. This is when my writing seems to glow the most. Maybe it’s time for a routine change. Anyway. You didn’t ask for that, but that’s the kind of chats we’ll have on this couch. If you still want coffee, tell me what you like, and I’ll do my best to dress up an espresso cosplaying as a latte. Next time, though.
I have Sex & The City running in the background—potentially the most overrated guilty pleasure I’ve ever seen—because I can’t simply bother letting it occupy more than a quarter of my concentration right now as I write out this letter for you. It’s one of those shows that drags me in with its early 2000s aesthetic charm and New York City “running amok” flair, but the “plot” lines and characters and sense of humor (sex comedy is not my thing) are littered in cutesy caricatures and a type of feminine culture that I have a very difficult time relating to. It’s one of my mother’s favorite shows, so I wanted to give it a fair shot. There are pieces of it I like, though most of it is unwatchable, for all the reasons I mentioned earlier.
Believe it or not, this isn’t random.
You came here because I titled this essay something along the lines of “how to be interesting,” or something similar. Or whatever else. I haven’t decided yet. My argument stands regardless of what it’ll be in the end.
If you’re curious where this originally came from, you can glimpse this thoughtstream from last week (not a requirement, but some thoughtstreams find connections over weeks, if not months, and maybe years if we get to that point-we will—so you might get a kick out of it):
Now, I’m telling you this because this show has—despite its flaws, and despite its flimsy characters and over reliance on tropes—somehow probed my interest enough to have it playing in some capacity in the background.
Occasionally, I’ll lift my head from writing, crack a smile, then return to what I’m working on, because Carrie Bradshaw—the cleverest, wittiest, quirkiest, and most insufferable gremlin of her little posse—said something sparklingly funny in a way that dragged me away from what I was doing to see how her friends light up and laugh at whatever quip she just doled out.
It’s not a huge reaction. It’s not warranting of anything extreme. It’s just enough. It’s that dose of Something that you can’t really describe. That sparkle of Specific Enough to get your head to turn, your brain to flicker with a freshly lit match of Curiosity, and your thoughts to turn all of their attention towards that One Thing that’s driving all of those experiences.
You could call this innate curiosity. You could call this the desire to learn. You could call this the ability to NOTICE. You could honestly call this so many things that to list them all out would sound overly performative and I really do not have the energy, nor desire, to lay that all out to you right now.
It does make me think, though, about what makes people interesting.
The Most Interesting People are unbelievably curious. They’re intelligent, creative, and artistic. They have deeply insatiable passions and a flame that can never be quenched. There’s something magnetic about them that you can’t turn away from. They’re ambitious, and have their own opinions. They have conviction, and aren’t afraid to ruffle feathers, while also being flexible enough to listen to opposing views without damning the other. They don’t subscribe to extreme political identities, and have stories to tell and experience that are far, far more intriguing to digest than their gender, sex, or origin. I guess we can call these people MIPs, now that I think about it. Funny.
Don’t want to let this thought slip—MOST INTERESTING THINGS. (Don’t want to call these MITs, but it’s deeply amusing) That’s worth talking about, don’t you agree? That’s very exciting. I love that. Okay. When I think about the things personally, those are very clear and very obvious. They glitter like diamonds. From styling and typography in magazine spreads to language found in brands to how screenplays are formatted to how bathrooms can be designed like fine jewelry. The possibilities are endless and it can be addictive just to think about all of those interconnected threads of INTERESTING MICRO OBSESSIONS.
The Least Interesting people (once again, to me) are copycats. They have zero identity and they do nothing but wait for things to happen to them. They make excuses for everything. They’re not interested in anything—what a shock—and aren’t drawn to do anything with their life. They consume all day and never create. They’re constant victims. They lack hobbies. They’re so disengaged from the world that they simply don’t care about anything. You don’t want to talk to these people at all because what is there to even talk about? You can tell from looking at them that they would rather trade their brain for mindless dopamine.
Now, picture this on a grander scale.
The whole notion of Interest.
A ZONE OF INTEREST, if you will.
Haven’t seen that film, but it’s on my list. (Have you?)
We get interested in things for many reasons, of course. I’m not a neuroscientist and I’m not going to pretend that I understand all of the chemical and psychological reasons we become INTERESTED in Things and People. That’s a very diverse subject matter that requires research, studies, and a whole slew of other things I’m just not qualified to enter.
Think we should normalize admitting we don’t know things instead of pretending we do know things in order to get attention and validation from strangers who believe we know the things we don’t actually know. You know?
But what I do want to share is how I feel and experience these things on a deeply intimate level.
To be Interested is to acknowledge that the world is what it is, and your perspective and ability to view through the lens you’ve subconsciously and unconsciously crafted for yourself. It’s to celebrate, understand, and to know, and to share all of those things with the other person without actively telling or forcing those concepts down someone else’s throat.
People who are truly interesting don’t need to pretend.
They just are.
It’s that simple.
You feel it through their skin. You see it light up their eyes. Interest has its own identifiable signals. Things you can’t ignore. You can feel the insecurity from people who wish they were interesting, and easily compare that sensation to those who actually are interesting. The difference is impossible to ignore once it punches you in the face. It’s a good punch, too.
Did you read this expecting me to teach you how to be Interesting?
Now that’s a joke if I’ve ever written one.
No. Obviously not. And that shouldn’t be your goal. Your expectation. You need to realize that the fact you’re curious about this at all shows you’re already more interesting than you’ve given yourself credit for. You don’t need a stranger on the internet to tell you that. You don’t need some special book or course or super secret special awesome recipe to help you “unlock” being interesting.
There’s a very strange niche submarket of manipulative storytellers—because, yes, this is a part of storytelling that uses the forces of power for means of questionable returns—that will convince you to believe you can’t possibly achieve or do or think certain things without buying whatever they believe. Their belief systems are not your problem, and they’re not designed to help you. Not like this. Plenty of books and mentorships and courses will be worth your investment, but it should never feel vague. These are distractions dressed up as solutions. Always spot the difference.
If you’re still reading this, you’ve probably realized that, damn, you are more interesting than you thought. Because you’re interested.
(There’s an obvious correlation there that most people ignore but feels very clear once you get ahold of it).
You likely have a ton of things to talk about, learn, and share with others. With great excitement and greater aplomb. With ideas built on top of other ideas, and memories built on top of memories. Your interests are, after all, amalgamations of messy, scrapped, revived, and deeply felt and understood things that only you could truly appreciate on a cellular level, and only specific people will understand once you share them.
If you’re not sure what this means in a tangible way, there are a few ways to explore this for yourself. You likely have a wealth of knowledge and experiences and daydreams and stories and concepts and collections and passions and whatever else that propel your legs, arms, thoughts, and everything connected forward and onward into your everyday life. You likely have an overflowing fountain of beautiful collectibles—picked up and cherished and loved and observed from the digital and physical archives of your many many many experiences that no one could point out but yourself—and you are foaming at the mouth to share it all, share it all!
I’m not going to suggest specific things these might be, because I don’t know you, and you could be a librarian, or an astronaut, or an NBA player.
I don’t fucking know.
And I won’t pretend to know.
But what makes you interesting is really, really, painfully simple.
Just think about those things that light you up.
Be interested in other people, too. This isn’t an ego game. This is about unleashing, receiving, and reciprocating, and connecting. So, be interested in the stories of others. Their histories. Their futures. What they love and value and believe in. What they make. Engage with them. Engage with yourself. Return their Offers of Interest with your own things you love and value and believe in. To collaborate in conversation and thinking with things that make you interesting and what makes your Fellow Interested Party (FIP?) interesting is an act of respect and mutual exchange that will help you not only feel pretty damn good at the end of your conversation, but leave you inspired to make yourself even more interesting by feeding into the orbit of others.
Again, this is not to be confused with blowing up your ego. Being interesting doesn’t automatically mean you’re a good, cool, or neat person. It just means you’re going to have a way more fun life, because your perspective hasn’t been burdened by anything intrusive that doesn’t belong there.
Don’t stress about whether or not you’re “interesting.”
Think, create, and do. Follow the funnels of what makes you happy. What fills you up and lights you up. What stokes a flame inside. Those things only occur to interesting people. It ignites charisma and invokes magnetism.
I guess it really is that simple.
— Taylor Barnes.
Loved the coffee part, I’m identical with my day/night….coffee 😆
you had me at midnight espresso babe
black
please and thank you
this was a fun read!