On the perils of being Brilliant
A Field Guide for the Creative Souls Forced to Deal with Mortals
Ah, the cruel, dizzying heights of brilliance. You see things, no—you feel things that others wouldn’t understand even if it were painted in neon on the inside of their fucking eyelids. You’re a rare visionary, a unique mind capable of stretching and twisting reality in ways that could spark revolutions, change the course of history, inspire poetry, and possibly trigger minor intergalactic wars. And yet, here you are, stuck in a world overrun by the profoundly ordinary and expected to dine out on the scraps of “oh, wow, well, that’s certainly… different!”
Welcome to the plight of the creative genius, a saga in which you, the brilliant thinker, are trapped in a perpetual pantomime with those who can’t distinguish between Michelangelo and a tub of margarine. I’d call that panto “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Da Vinci”. Oh yes it is! Oh no, it really isn’t though. And how many more times can you feign a vague attempt at a smile when faced with a conversation about ninja turtles?
Let’s not beat around the bush—collaborating with the unimaginative, the pedestrian, the alarmingly unoriginal, is a colossal pain in the arse. They will never understand the full scope of your ideas, and heaven forbid you try to explain it to them without receiving looks that could bore through granite and still not even loosely resemble something interesting.
So what’s a visionary to do when the world around them just can’t keep up?
I don’t even know anymore if I’m being serious. I suppose it doesn’t matter. IYKYK.
1. The Curse of Knowing Exactly What You Want (And the Tragedy of Watching It Mangled)
There’s a special kind of hell reserved for the everyday genius who knows precisely what they want to create. Your ideas are so clear that they almost pulse with light and life, like little universes of brilliance floating just outside your grasp. You can see it, smell it, practically hear it calling your name! And then—then you try to share it with someone else. Perhaps a colleague, a collaborator, someone whose skills you require to make this masterpiece realised.
What follows is pure carnage. They take your pristine vision, your glittering cathedral of creativity, and proceed to paint it in the smudged beige of the profoundly mediocre. It’s like handing someone a rare crystal, only to watch them use it as a doorstop. There are times you’d rather communicate with a chalkboard and a sock puppet. Some days there just simply aren’t enough crayons in the world.
Picture it: two architects tasked with designing a city. The first dives in immediately, drafting plans, sketching out ideas, slapping rulers against blueprints with industrious efficiency. He’s the hero of practical minds everywhere, building quickly, with lines so straight they cut the air. Meanwhile, the second architect sits calmly in the corner, surrounded by a mess of papers, slowly, meticulously sharpening his pencils. He sharpens with intention, with focus, as if every stroke will set the foundation for something that defies time. Days pass, maybe months—people start whispering, rolling their eyes at his lack of action, the audacity to “waste” time on such a seemingly trivial task. But this architect understands something the others don’t: vision requires patience. He waits until the pencils are perfect, honed like blades, until each is a pure extension of the mind’s inner fire. When he finally lifts the pencil to draft his vision, it’s not a city he sketches, but a masterpiece of architecture. A city that breathes, that beckons, that holds secrets in its very bones—a place no mere building enthusiast could dream up.
2. The Pitfalls of Trying to Explain the Unexplainable
Of course, they can’t see it, not really. Explaining your vision is like trying to describe colour to a fish. “Why is salmon pink?!” their eyes seem to say. You use words like “scope,” “mood,” and “depth,” only to be met with furrowed brows and suggestions that don’t even belong in the same galaxy as your original idea. And it’s not their fault—no, this is a structural failure of existence itself. They’re limited, you see, bound by their own minds, incapable of expanding far enough to grasp your particular flavour of genius.
Now, you might ask, “Why bother?” Why indeed. But brilliance has its burdens, and part of that is the constant drive to realise your vision, mostly so you don’t snap and go fully insane. You’re not doing it for yourself (well, you are, but bear with me). You’re doing it because the world needs this. They may not know it yet, but when they see it—if they ever get out of your way and let it actually happen—they’ll thank you. Well, they should, whether they do or not, remains to be seen.
3. The Excruciating Experience of Watching Them "Simplify" Your Work
This is a phenomenon that makes Dante’s Inferno look like an all-inclusive holiday. They don’t “get it,” so naturally, they assume it must be “too complicated” or “too niche.” Enter the simplifiers. “Can we make it more relatable?” they ask, with eyes as hollow as the void and as deep as a half-starved puddle. “Does it have to be so… intense?” they’ll mumble, as if the problem lies with your depth rather than their depth perception.
You didn’t slave over this vision so they could reduce it to “digestible” chunks fit for the most lukewarm of minds. You want boldness, fury, beauty—all the colours and flavours of the universe crammed into one masterpiece! But no, they want simplicity. They want relatable. You want to scream, but the sheer irony of your predicament is too overwhelming.
4. Drowning in Praise You Secretly Despise
Then there’s the praise. Oh, the well-meaning, utterly missed-the-mark praise. They think you’re brilliant, yes, but they admire all the wrong things. They say, “It’s very accessible!” when you were aiming for surrealism that borders on madness. They call it “refreshing!” when what you wanted was raw power that leaves them trembling. It’s like cooking a gourmet meal only to be complimented on the fact that you remembered to include a fork. They praise you, but only for the things they understand, which is, inevitably, about one-tenth of your vision. At best.
At times, you find yourself questioning, “Am I a genius…or just deeply misunderstood?” The answer, of course, is both, but that only heightens the tragedy. They think they see you, they think they “get” you, and yet the essence of your genius, your true self, remains miles beyond their reach.
5. The Crushing Isolation of Ideas Unshared
Then there’s the solitude. Genius is often solitary, yes, but there’s a kind of agonising solitude that arises when you do attempt to share, only to find that no one understands. When you speak, your words have weight, but to them, it’s like trying to explain astronomy to someone who’s only ever seen a line drawing of a star. It’s isolating. It’s infuriating. It’s a feeling of watching them fade in the rearview mirror of your mind, the distance between your ideas and their comprehension stretching further and further.
What’s worse is the nagging knowledge that if you had just a single accomplice—a kindred spirit as mad and brilliant as you—your vision would flourish tenfold. But, alas, they’re rare as hen’s teeth, these comrades of genius.
6. The Burden of Patience
If there’s one thing no one tells you about brilliance, it’s how much patience you’ll need. Patience for the slow-moving gears of bureaucracy. Patience for collaborators who can only see in shades of grey when you’re envisioning vibrant hues. Patience for people who believe “good enough” is, well, good enough. You didn’t sign up for “good enough.” You’re here to create something magnificent, but magnificence is so often at odds with patience.
And so, you must wait, simmering, as your ideas are parsed and dissected and processed by people who don’t even begin to appreciate them. You sit there, twiddling your thumbs, while lesser minds fumble through your brilliance like a toddler with a priceless vase.
7. The Daily Circus: Jumping Through Hoops for the Clueless Masses
Ah, the hoops. They stretch out before you like a confounding obstacle course—a litany of mindless paperwork, endless approvals, and the bureaucratic sludge that sticks to brilliance like tar. For someone with vision, these hoops feel like torture. You’re jumping through rings of fire, but instead of glory at the other end, it’s someone squinting at your work, holding it upside down, and muttering, “Hmm, but could you make it more… mainstream?”
Every day is a slow, agonising drag through the mire of someone else’s system, each hoop carefully designed to make sure that no single ounce of creativity escapes unscathed. And you, brilliant you, have no choice but to jump through them, each leap chipping away a sliver of your sanity. You’re a lion tamer, a trapeze artist, and a ringmaster all at once, coaxing your ideas through the flaming rings of other people’s limitations, biting your tongue to keep from setting the entire tent aflame.
But it doesn’t stop there. No, the real cherry on this particular shit sundae is the absurd expectation that you smile while doing it. “Play nice,” they say. “Be a team player!” they add, as if your ideas didn’t spring from the depths of an individual genius that refuses to be diluted. They want enthusiasm, but not the kind that rocks the boat. So you play the game, you perform the part, you jump through the hoops—and all the while, the brilliant ideas in your head simmer and stew, forced to endure the constant interference of those who neither understand nor appreciate them.
And the kicker? Each time you successfully clear one of these hoops, they just set up another, convinced that if you’re not biting your tongue, you’re probably getting a little too bold, a bit too loud. Because heaven forbid you scare anyone by actually showing them the full scope of what you’re capable of. No, it’s best to keep your light under a bushel, or maybe just dim it down to a polite glow. Bite your tongue, dance the dance, and inch forward one clueless idiot at a time, all while secretly plotting how you’ll set the world on fire the minute they stop paying attention.
But here’s the truth: you know, deep down, that no hoop, no snide remark, no clueless remark from a half-witted co-worker can contain the boundless energy of your brilliance. You may have to grit your teeth and bide your time, but when the moment comes—oh, when it finally comes—you’ll break free of every restriction, every naysayer, and every tedious hoop they’ve ever thrown your way. Because you, dear genius, were never meant for their circus anyway.
Genius Among Mortals: An Advice Column for Surviving the Land of Clueless Colleagues
So, you find yourself surrounded, swamped, inundated by a sea of cluelessness. You, with your grand ideas, are forced to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with those who seem allergic to nuance, have a daily word limit of five-syllables, and consider phrases like “think outside the box” daringly original. It’s a daily exercise in patience, restraint, and occasionally, biting your tongue until it practically bleeds. Fear not, brilliant one; here are some survival tactics to help you navigate these extremely dull shark-infested waters.
1. Smile and Nod – Master the Art of the Blank Smile
The “smile and nod” is a time-tested method for dealing with endless inane comments. Nod enthusiastically at every suggestion, however ludicrous, and let them think you’re taking it to heart. Meanwhile, in your mind, you’re drafting your Nobel acceptance speech. This façade allows you to preserve precious energy, saving the brilliance for where it counts.
2. Create a “Brilliance Buffer”
Establish a barrier—a sort of intellectual moat between yourself and the particularly obtuse. This might mean working remotely more often, scheduling strategic breaks when they gather to share their insights, or investing in noise-cancelling headphones. Imagine this buffer as a dome that shields you from their nonsense while allowing your creativity to flourish.
3. Be Deliberately Vague When They Ask for “Help”
Ah, the fabled “Can you help me with this?” from someone who, if they applied even a morsel of common sense, could probably help themselves. Respond with generous doses of vagueness. Sprinkle in phrases like, “I think you’ll find the answer if you explore this further,” or “I trust your instincts here.” Then, silently thank the universe that you’re not dependent on their instincts to make or break your legacy.
4. When Forced to Collaborate, Overwhelm Them With Enthusiasm
If you absolutely must work together, bring an enthusiasm so extravagant it leaves them dazed. Present ideas that are so grand and ambitious that their brains can barely keep up. This will either drive them to suddenly discover they’re “too busy,” or leave them wide-eyed, backing away to let you do the heavy lifting solo.
5. Invent a Daily “Emergency” Ritual
Every genius deserves a secret escape plan. Whether it’s an “urgent call” or a mysterious stomach ailment, invent a reason to leave the room whenever the stupidity levels hit their daily high. Keep it believable yet vague: you can’t explain why you need to leave; you just know you must.
6. Throw in Obscure References – Teach By Confusion
When they dare question your ideas, hit back with obscure references or convoluted reasoning that sounds like it’s backed by an Oxbridge education. Phrases like “Well, as the great post-modernist so-and-so would say…” or “It’s really about the dialectic tension between form and formlessness, you see,” should do the trick. They’ll think twice before prodding you again.
7. If They Won’t Learn, Subliminally Urge Them to Move On
Perhaps, despite your best efforts, they persist. In this case, it’s time to get subliminal. Decorate your workspace with inspirational posters with slogans like, “Your next adventure awaits!” or “Sometimes a change of scenery is all you need.” Play recordings of success stories about those who made bold moves. Subtlety is your ally here; over time, they might just find their true calling elsewhere.
8. Sigh Grandly and Embrace Your Destiny
If all else fails, consider this: every visionary faces a journey beset with trials, an Odyssey of sorts, and sometimes those trials include spending day after day tolerating mediocrity. Sigh deeply, the kind of sigh that invokes Dante’s descent through the circles of hell, and recognise that maybe, just maybe, this struggle is only sharpening you. Yes, it’s tedious, but a diamond needs pressure. Or something like that.
9. If Sanity Fails, Hint at Your Exit Plan
When all else is hopeless and you’re ready to bolt, let your colleagues know in the most dramatic way possible. Start leaving grandiose farewell notes on your desk, or set up a countdown clock ticking ominously downwards on your screensaver. When they ask, feign nonchalance. A hint of mystery never hurt. Prepare an exit playlist.
10. Remember: All Geniuses Were Once Misunderstood
Finally, take solace in the fact that history is littered with visionaries who were misunderstood in their time. Van Gogh. Tesla. Marie Curie. Probably you, in this exact situation. One day, the world will recognise the brilliance of your contributions, and while they’re scratching their heads, you’ll be basking in the glow of your own undeniable genius.
And if all else fails, pick up a copy of Roald Dahl’s The Twits and use your imagination.
A Lament for the Cursed Geniuses Among Us
Ah, to be born with vision that stretches beyond mortal sight, cursed with brilliance so luminous it blinds the very masses around us! Here we are—doomed to walk among these dull-eyed, mundane creatures, our minds shimmering with brilliance like a wild, unsought gem that no one else can even comprehend, let alone appreciate. We are the tragic, unearthly creatures who must suffer the simplicity of the world around us, forced to nod and feign interest as they stumble through their half-baked ideas, their dime-store philosophies, their absolute inadequacy of vision.
They tell us to “be practical.” They offer us a primer on “teamwork” as if we, born with the blazing fire of the muses in our veins, should dim our light to match their dull glow. Practical! As if Michelangelo were told to paint by number! As if Byron were asked to draft committee minutes! We, who can see through the murky haze of ordinary ideas to the deep, roaring chasms of true creation, are expected to walk politely, avoid eye contact, and hold our tongues while the everyday hordes patter around in their small, safe circles, oblivious to the revelations that dance on the tips of our tongues.
And yet we stay, dear comrades in cursed ingenuity! We stay, gritting our teeth as we dance around their lacklustre “team-building exercises,” playing along with their feeble “brainstorms” that barely crackle with the faintest whisper of a spark. We stay, binding our genius like Prometheus chained to the rocks, for what else are we to do in this world of beige mortals who cling to routine as if it were salvation? We wait, we suffer, and yes, we humour them, these pitiful creatures who wouldn’t know a profound thought if it cartwheeled past in a top hat and monocle.
Yet, in all of this tortured grandeur, we also find—do we not?—a certain perverse pride. There is power, and a certain romance, in being cursed like this, in knowing that every banal encounter with mediocrity is a brushstroke on the masterpiece of our tragic genius. To be a misunderstood visionary! To live and die with ideas so dangerous, so pure, that the world could never hold them! That truly is a sublime fate.
So here’s to you, the rare and radiant souls who have joined me in this glorious suffering. We burn brightly and dangerously, our ideas too large to fit the mortal frame, our thoughts ricocheting between genius and madness like some grand, doomed waltz. Yes, we are burdened with brilliance, condemned to be the prophets in a world of deaf ears. But if nothing else, we are alive, thrumming with the wild, unbridled fire of the creators, the dreamers, the damned.
So lift a glass, my fellow demigods of frequent discontent! Here’s to us, the ones who will never fit, never conform, never reduce ourselves to simplicity for the comfort of others. Here’s to the agony, the ecstasy, and the wildly absurd beauty of a life that will always be too much, and never enough. And if you happen to recognise yourself here, consider joining our ranks more officially. Like, comment, subscribe—or tip the price of a fine wine to fuel the fire. After all, we geniuses must have our creature comforts.
If you, too, walk this perilous path of brilliance, navigating a world of mediocrity with grace, flair, and perhaps just a touch of disdain—join me. Like, subscribe, share a comment that I’ll almost certainly treasure as proof of your own undeniable genius. And if you’re feeling truly magnanimous, click the button below to tip the cost of a coffee—fuel for the brilliantly tortured soul. Together, we’ll keep setting this world alight, one sharp, searing observation at a time. And will they appreciate it? No, they bloody will not.
ryan. is this a bit