I have never been brilliantly clever. It is a fact I have come to terms with over the years. However, I have long prided myself on being thoughtful and interrogative; that even if I don’t know much, at least I look around with curiosity. But over the past couple of months, I have lost some of my interest in the world. In writing my novel, I have lived solely in my imagination for over a year and a half. I now feel untethered and withdrawn from how the world moves alongside me. I no longer gaze out the window or lift my head up when someone calls my name.

I have always felt insecure about being just a little too thick to keep up with the ever-changing political winds. I’ll never know the newest in AI or the language of philosophical thought. I can’t tell you when the next election is, or by what margin inflation has increased, and what the causes of that are. I now often find myself barely staying afloat in intellectual conversation. Often, I don’t know what people are talking about, but they look at me as if I have some great insight to offer. I remember when I was a child, my grandfather would say, “People can assume you’re stupid, but it’s best not to open your mouth and prove it.” So, in those moments where eyes glare and mouths drop open as if to swallow my thoughts, I simply nod and listen. I try to keep my nose poking above water for as long as I can.

I have been reading mountains of fiction to help me write. Reading is the best education in writing, no one can tell me otherwise. But as I put down non-fiction, I lose my ability to critically think. I lose a voice outside of my head prodding at the way I see the world. I had a close friend who always kept up with the news. On the tube, while their tea brewed, waiting in a two person line, they would read wide-ranging articles.  Their phone was always open on The New Yorker, or The Independent, or some niche personal blog of an acclaimed journalist. If I asked them about anything or wondered out loud, they would know the answer. It was like having my own personal search engine. They have somewhat moved out of my life, and now I feel myself wondering less because I don’t have the answers on hand. I feel my mind growing slimmer, dimmer, not the sparking, brilliant thing it once was (as if it ever was).

I met someone a little while ago who was doing a philosophy master’s. They kept droning on about their soul and then quoted Nietzsche at me: “We have art in order not to die of the truth,” he said. “Who is Nietzsche, and what the hell does that mean?” I replied, feeling infinitely small-minded. I have been lucky to be surrounded by intelligent people all my life. My sister is remarkably bright, my flatmate speaks nearly every language, and my university boyfriend got full marks on his dissertation. All my female friends are horribly and wonderfully self-aware. And here I am, sucking it all in, pickpocketing anything shiny from them any chance I get.

I find myself, more often than ever before, glomming onto the brains of everyone around me. It does make me feel stupid to not have my own thoughts. Someone asked me what I think of Keir Starmer, and I’m truly ashamed to say that I don’t know. The world news baffles me; I am so behind on what’s been going on. I’ve lost nearly every chess game I’ve ever played. I have to count on my fingers. I feel my brain slowing down. The fog floats over the river and my nose drops below the water line.

How do I fix it? I shall listen to a podcast every day that tells me something of what is going on in the world. Not everything at once, as that makes me feel horribly depressed, but one interesting thing. I will make sure that podcast has some kind of expert on it, not just a boy who bought a microphone from Amazon and used daddy’s links to get a platform.

I shall read non-fiction again. Returning to my favourites: Rebecca Solnit, Susan Sontag, Barbara Kingsolver, Jia Tolentino, Janet Malcolm, is sure to help. I will let their words fill me up and open me to more questions and curiosities that I haven’t felt in a while. I shall read a couple of articles a week for diversity of opinion.

I shall listen and confess when I don’t know; my grandfather’s advice will go out the window. I hope that proving I am stupid is the way to cure the affliction. I shall get someone non-condescending to explain to me who Nietzsche is, because I’ve looked it up and I still don’t understand anything he has ever said. I shall continue to surround myself with brilliantly clever people (I am fortunate to know many). I shall not be too hard on myself for letting my education slip, because we are living in a TikTok age and sometimes those videos really are very funny.

The brain is a muscle, and I will stretch and curl. I’ll sharpen it like a knife along a whetstone. I’ll take on more, little by little each day. I’ll be critical of what I read and hear. In time, my brain will be strong again and my nose will sit far above the water. And I’ll still never be acutely intelligent, but I’ll have my sense of wonder back. I’ll hear when people call my name, I’ll ask why and know when I’m dissatisfied with the answer. My curiosity will return and I’ll capture the butterfly in my hands and feel it beat its wings.