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  • Writer's pictureBrittany K

Why Your High IQ Makes You a Big 'ol Dummy

I’ve decided that being born with an IQ deemed higher than average actually puts me at a SEVERE deficit for life.

Let me explain.

‘Dumb luck’ and ‘Ignorance is bliss’ did NOT come out of thin air.

It’s like the more I study things, or the more I apply myself to something, the more I come up against a wall of insecurity and confidence drought.

I have found, through keen observation and Facebook status updates, that those who are perhaps not as.. Cerebrally gifted, do not find such things to be problematic.

Now, I am certainly no genius. In fact, on some occasions, I find myself doing things, and more likely saying things, that compromise the integrity of this entire post.

I do know that I score higher than average on those standardized tests. (Whatever that means in the real world…actually I will say, contradicting myself yet again, that this says little about intelligence.) And that in my life, I have found myself in advanced educational programs. So let’s say, by traditional, North American accepted standards, I have above average intellect.

So now that we’ve established I can occasionally think my way out of a box, let me tell you why I think I am forever at a deficit.

I make myself crazy (almost certifiable) thinking about my own personal flaws, struggles, and lack of knowledge. I second guess my every choice, and rerun conversations back in my head a thousand times to try and analyze how I came off, how I was perceived, and what hole I need to start digging myself out of.

Now, as a girl who enjoys the odd glass of red, who prefers to speak and THEN think, this penchant for over analyzing has left many a sleepless nights, and a minor anxiety disorder.

Back to the point. Do you think the same person who is pondering life via unintelligible Facebook post, to be hard when ‘people R always on my case. There the ones who suk ‘, is suffering from the same mental fatigue I am after I take a public political stance and spend the rest of the night re-researching my points to ensure accuracy?

I doubt it.

And I don’t do these bizarre rituals for my health, and CERTAINLY not for fun. I just can’t help it. My brain is hard wired to analyze and pull theories apart.

There was no sadder a day in my life than when I became unable to read a book just for story alone.

Choosing lame romance, or predictability, or overdone generic poo over merit and wordsmith-ery... NEVER (If the irony of me not being able to find a real word to act as a synonym for wordsmith is lost on you, well… probably the rest of this article is as well.)

This is why, no matter how hard I tried, 50 Shades was NEVER going to be my thing.

Why I stopped writing for months.

Why I struggle even at this moment for inspiration and confidence to surge ahead. To become the person I can picture so vibrantly in my head. To harness the brain I’ve always been told is a gift, despite no one explaining to me that sometimes, this thing is a bit of a curse.

I believe it is always why so many of the literary greats wrote under the influence of ‘mood helpers’. Or why ridiculously intelligent or creative people find themselves in the grip of addiction. Because you need to harness self-doubt, that nagging subconscious feeling that you are not smart enough, not witty enough, to produce anything other than.. well, this blog. And, I mean what better tool than opium to remind yourself YOU ARE AWESOME.** I’m not the first person to run into this mountain of uncertainty, and to struggle with a way to summit it.

I believe it's also why people who are in no way geniuses, or greats, or even above averages at what they do make leaps of faith and sometimes, for the oddest of reasons, or luck, or a weird turn of the universe, become successful. And why uber intelligent people sit on the sidelines, paralyzed with the fear to step inside the fire.

So I did some soul searching. Mostly I stopped watching bad TV, and started REALLY questioning my veracious, and usually self deprecating, internal dialogue.

And then a funny thing happened. I found the Excalibur against self doubt. And the simplicity of it was astounding.

I’ve given myself the permission to try.

To be Brittany.

To be the best at what I know. For me, to write what I know and to stop worrying about what I don’t. I'm not attempting to best, or even compare to anyone else. To stop staring into the face of expectation and possibilities, and 'Am I enough' self talk, and turtling.

I’ve never been pushed to try, and I’ve over analyzed the reasons why I shouldn’t start now.

I’ve never had the courage, or the need to lay all my gifts, and solitary work on the line. Until this point in my life, outside of my marriage and my children (all external endeavors), I’ve never once given all I had over to anything and really, really TRIED.

Because, my brain told me the answer was to sail the exterior and only swoop in when there was absolute concrete proof I would excel.

So I’m going against my better judgment, and trying.

I will also likely have a glass of wine. Just, you know.... to make sure.

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