My frontal lobe occasionally leaves the group chat

There are days when I am a fully functioning adult.

I make responsible decisions. I think before I speak. I consider consequences. I check my bank account before spending money. I remember that actions have repercussions and that I am, in fact, responsible for keeping my own life somewhat fucking organized.

And then there are other days.

Days when my frontal lobe apparently clocks out, turns off its notifications, throws up an out-of-office message, and leaves the rest of my brain completely unsupervised.

Those are the dangerous days.

Not actual danger dangerous.

More like…

“Why are you getting dressed?”

Don’t worry about it.

“Where are you going?”

Not entirely sure yet.

“Is this a good idea?”

Absolutely not.

“Are you still going to do it?”

Get in the fucking car.

I swear there is a tiny feral woman living somewhere inside of me who spends most of her time patiently waiting for responsible me to get tired.

And the SECOND she senses weakness?

She’s fucking driving.

Suddenly, we’re making spontaneous plans.

We’re taking random drives.

We’re changing our hair.

We’re ordering something we definitely did not need.

We’re considering tattoos.

We’re texting the group chat something that begins with, “Okay, hear me out…”

Nothing good has ever followed “hear me out,” by the way.

But that’s irrelevant.

Because in that moment?

It makes perfect fucking sense.

And maybe I should be embarrassed by how spontaneous and slightly unhinged I can be sometimes.

But honestly?

I’m not.

I’ve spent enough of my life thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong.

I’ve overthought myself out of things I wanted.

I’ve stayed home when I wanted to go.

I’ve stayed quiet when I wanted to speak.

I’ve convinced myself not to take chances because I couldn’t guarantee the outcome.

I’ve lived through seasons where simply surviving took every ounce of energy I had.

So forgive me if occasionally I want to be a little fucking feral.

I don’t mean destroying my life.

There’s a difference between spontaneous and self-destructive.

I’m talking about the harmless chaos.

The kind that gives you stories.

The kind where your best friend looks at you and says, “We’re going to regret this,” and you both start laughing because you already know you’re doing it anyway.

The random adventures.

The unexpected nights.

The “I have absolutely no idea how we ended up here” moments.

The memories you couldn’t have planned if you tried.

Sometimes I need those.

Because I’ve realized something:

Not every decision needs a five-year fucking business plan.

Sometimes you can just do something because it sounds fun.

Sometimes you can change your mind.

Sometimes you can take the long way home because the music is good and you’re not ready to go inside yet.

Sometimes you can buy the concert ticket.

Take the trip.

Get dressed up for absolutely no reason.

Go somewhere new.

Talk to the stranger.

Try the thing you’ve been scared to try.

Let yourself have the experience without immediately asking how it fits into the rest of your life.

I’m learning how to give myself permission to live without constantly preparing for the worst.

And maybe that’s why my spontaneous side feels so fucking freeing.

For a few hours, I’m not analyzing.

I’m not worrying.

I’m not trying to predict what happens next.

I’m just there.

Existing.

Laughing.

Making memories.

Being ridiculous.

Being alive.

And sure, sometimes Future Me has questions.

Future Me occasionally wakes up, looks around, checks her phone, checks her bank account, and would like to schedule a meeting with Past Me immediately.

Unfortunately, Past Me has retained legal counsel and will not be answering questions at this time.

She acted on vibes.

Case closed.

But beneath all the jokes about being feral and unhinged, there’s something I’ve started to understand about myself.

I don’t want fear making every decision for me anymore.

I don’t want my life to become one giant attempt to avoid anything that might hurt, embarrass, disappoint, or inconvenience me.

Because avoiding every possible bad experience also means missing some really fucking beautiful ones.

I want balance.

I want stability and spontaneity.

I want responsibilities and ridiculous adventures.

I want quiet mornings with coffee and nights that somehow turn into stories I’ll be telling for ten years.

I want to be responsible enough to build the life I want…

and just unhinged enough to actually fucking enjoy it.

So yes.

My frontal lobe occasionally leaves the group chat.

Sometimes the intrusive little “fuck it” wins.

Sometimes I make decisions based almost entirely on vibes and whether they’ll make a good story.

Sometimes I disappear on a spontaneous side quest and come back with absolutely no explanation other than:

“You had to be there.”

And I’m okay with that.

Because I’m starting to realize that maybe I don’t need to become less chaotic.

Maybe I just needed to learn which kind of chaos makes me feel alive and which kind destroys my peace.

I’ll protect my peace.

I’ll handle my responsibilities.

I’ll keep building the life I’ve fought so hard for.

But every once in a while?

I’m still going to let that feral little bitch out of her cage.

Life is too fucking short to keep her supervised forever.

And besides…

the best stories usually start right after the frontal lobe leaves the group chat.

— The Girl Behind the Chaos