infinite monkey theorem

What is the infinite monkey theorem?

It states that a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite number of times will almost surely be able to type a given text, such as the complete works of William Shakespeare.

Taking an extremely literal interpretation (which it is not intended for), the concept is rather sobering for anyone who considers themselves a writer – anything you think of can be created out of random chance

In light of this, I am left to question: why do I write?

I began writing because I had to. After all, language is an essential part of life.

As we grow up, our parents slowly stop responding to our various guttural noises. We are confused then realise we are being forced into a new stage of life where we must use our words to get what we want.

“Man is by nature a social animal; an individual who is unsocial naturally and not accidentally is either beneath our notice or more than human. Society is something that precedes the individual. Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god. ”

― Aristotle

We learn to formulate words, phrases, sentences and paragraphs from a young age in order to satisfy others. Words give us the power to communicate and become social creatures. Eventually, there comes a point where you are sufficiently skilled at the written language and it becomes a choice to let it fade into the background of your existence like breathing or you can hone your skills and turn it into an art form.

I placed high value on the written word because…people told me I was good at it.

Don’t lie, that’s why you do what you do too. Whether you start an activity because you were forced into it or you had genuine interest, without thinking that you were eventually going to be good at it or having that idea that you are good affirmed by others, there is very little chance for us to follow it through.

Isn’t it funny how the opinion of others have such a large influence on who we are and who we become? Even though idealists like me try to argue that the world is what you make of it, it is your perceived reality and nobody can influence your happiness but yourself…

that’s really hard to follow 100% of the time/

Ultimately, words are powerful and those whispers that fill my mind when I’m in doubt or linger after I awaken from a nightmare influence my world. With the billions of versions of planet Earth crossing over, we can’t help the edges blurring together just a little bit from you to me.

In conclusion, I write because I want to connect with the people that will read my words, but more importantly, it’s my external reflection of a loud and incessant internal monologue. It is a record of what has been, its value not in its historical absolution but of the biases that apply due to my own identity.

It is my escape, when angry or upsetting thoughts fill my mind and I need a place to unload. It is my friend, when I need someone else to tell me that everything will be okay but nobody is there. It is me, when I want to define the experiences and the opinions that make up who I am at the current stage of my life.

Somehow, writing always makes everything better. When I am in pain, putting down my thoughts and reading them distances the comfort I’m trying to provide away from my afflictions so that I can really feel better. Hopefully I am helping others who experience the same doubts and worries that plague my mind to be more at peace too.

There are many other reasons why I write but in this instant, in this mood, these words seem to capture the most important reasons above all: writing is my outlet, it is my most valued companion, it is me.

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