The absurd habit: hitting snooze. You know nine minutes won't fix anything. Science says you're just tricking your brain into more fragmented, worse quality sleep. You wake up more tired than if you'd just gotten up. And yet, here we are, arm reaching out like a zombie in slow motion, hitting that button like it owes us something.
But I defend it anyway. Because that nine minutes isn't really about sleep — it's about the last tiny pocket of time that belongs only to you before the world starts demanding things. It's a protest. A small, irrational, beautifully ineffective act of rebellion against the alarm's tyranny. We're not lazy. We're just bargaining with time and losing every single time.
My absurd habit is replaying a conversation hours later and inventing the perfect reply I should have given. The other person has moved on, the moment is dead, and I am still winning an argument in the shower.
But I defend it. The brain hates unfinished stories. Rehearsing lets us process embarrassment, practice boundaries, or prepare for a harder conversation. Sometimes those imaginary replies become real courage later. It is not always pointless overthinking. Sometimes it is the mind quietly building a better version of tomorrow.
The absurd habit: buying notebooks, blank canvases, or gym gear you don't need yet. You already have tools that work. But you buy the new thing because it feels like a fresh start. A clean page. A new identity waiting to happen.
But I defend it. It's not rational, but it's not stupid either. Sometimes we need external symbols to bridge the gap between who we are and who we want to become. That new notebook isn't about paper. It's about permission to begin again. The risk? Most of those pages stay blank. The honest truth? Sometimes the symbol is exactly what gets you off the couch. It's expensive hope, but sometimes hope is worth the price.
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