Being smart is hard. Feeling is easy.

We like to read books that offer an illusion of understanding: clever detective-esque inquiries with a tidy revelation.

Between our repetitious a-to-b obligations, we don’t have to think: we consume the form of thought without doing the act.
And yet, this escapist distraction away from emotion allows productivity.

This placebo intelligence is often preferable to the chaos of existing in your heart continually.