Obsession

it's scorpio szn, baby

I think a lot about obsession. Mostly because I’m chronically prone to it. Pick anything — anything really, really anything, and I can obsess about it. It could be because of certain astrological placements that I won’t name here, it might be because of how my brain is wired, and it might be a mystery (I like this theory because it absolves me from any personal responsibility).

I mainly get obsessed with other people. It could be a love interest, an elaborate fantasy about a love interest who doesn’t know they’re a love interest, artists I admire, people I’m friends with, or people I want to be friends with. At 11 years old, I went to stand in the cold at The Man in the Iron Mask premiere in Leicester Square. I’ll confess I did actually think I might be friends with Leonardo DiCaprio despite wearing a purple school uniform with a velvet beret; that’s how strong my obsession was.

My obsessions don’t discriminate. An obsession could take the form of something weird/inappropriate/over the top I said, something weird/inappropriate/over the top someone said to me, or a lengthy analysis of a text message. It could be about a meal I really like making, breakfast food (specifically: oats), a TV show I need to watch 239 episodes of, or a type of exercise. If it’s 2017, it’s doing Kundalini yoga every day for 90 minutes and wearing all white for 18 months. That was, until I realised I was joining a quasi-cult. Cult-adjacent. I won’t comment on Kundalini yoga in general, but my point is that my pet obsessions could lead to me joining a cult, so friends and family should take note.

Actual photo of me obsessing at 3 am - Credit

But why do I obsess? It’s, at best, tiring and, at worst, destructive. Do I do it to provide a balm for my loneliness? Is it to fill an endless longing that lives within me? Is it because I find it so intolerable to be in my skin? Many of these questions go best unanswered, reserved for private notebooks and therapy sessions.

When I think about all the many hours that I've obsessed in my life about any number of things, I think of how many hours I could have devoted beyond useless obsession. I could have been a piano savant, learned to sing, made thousands of friendship bracelets, learned to expertly knit, or become a professional athlete. The options are endless. None of those options are as sexy (to me) as obsessing about other people, though. I do know many useless facts about celebrities that never come in handy for anything at all, so at least I have that.

But then I think about all the people who were obsessed with something and how it culminated in great things, even if it was probably intolerable to be in a relationship with them.

Charles Dickens kept an insanely strict schedule. He wrote every day from 9 am to 2 pm and then went for a three-hour walk. He was also into talismans (he travelled with ceramic frogs to help him write), and his bed had to be in a certain direction for him to even sleep (something about the electric current of the earth). He sounds like my kind of guy, chanelling obsession into what actually matters (a writing schedule, being a nightmare to be around). But he gave us Oliver Twist and Great Expectations, sooo…..

Isaac Newton was obsessed with alchemy. Hello, the guy who came up with calculus was also obsessed with turning lead into gold??? That is one sick hobby, my man. It goes without saying that one would have to be an obsessive to discover gravity in their lifetime. He also wrote 10 million words. By hand.

Isaac Newton when he realised he couldn’t turn lead into gold. JK it’s this guy.

And listen, I bet you Catherine the Great didn’t obsess over silly little resentments, where Geri Halliwell and every other Spice Girl was born, or spend days on end deliberating about the best option for which electric toothbrush to buy. This bitch wrote an opera in her spare time, was penpals with Voltaire, and took many a lover. It sounds like she was obsessed with the right stuff, even if she also staged a coup to have her husband ousted from power so she could take the throne.

So the thing is, I have to accept that I am truly just meant for obsession. Obsession is meant for me. We are meant for each other. The lesson here is clear. I can channel it into healthy obsessions, like the totally achievable goal of turning lead into gold in my lifetime, writing every day for 5 hours straight (no breaks), or taking power over my husband’s throne, having him assassinated only to then claim plausible deniability because of inconclusive evidence. When I figure all that out, it’s over.

Happy Scorpio season, my friends. May you go forth and fixate on something you probably won’t be able to do anything about just because you can. To celebrate, I made you a playlist about obsession. The songs are mainly about romantic obsessions, but let’s face it — those are the best kind.

With love,

Nora x

NB: historical references have been fact-checked but are also flimsy — this is a newsletter, not a newspaper.