Ok. I have to confess this. I’m sure that it will change many people’s opinions of me, but it must be said. I have a fidget spinner. There I said it. Even worse, I gave my child a fidget spinner. I know. I deserve your looks of anger and resentment.
I have to say something else as well. I like my fidget spinner. My son’s fidget spinner helps him be less of a distraction. I keep my fidget spinner close by. It helps me focus. That’s right. My entire family is one of “them.” We are the people that keep these ridiculous types of objects on the market. We are to blame.
The thing about the fidget spinner that amazes me is not how quickly that it took off, or even the backlash against it by parents, educators (my coworkers have given me no end to grief), and the public at large. What amazes me about it is how well it works without doing anything amazing. It just spins. There is nothing profound about it. Still, that simple spinning can do wonders that the most unique or profound objects, thoughts, or writing can never do.
I worry that as a society in general (and writers in particular) we expect everything to be profound. I am extremely guilty of this. Rather than using a blog to just put some thoughts out there and to speak my mind, I feel that every time I put something on my blog that it should teach something important. Everything that I say should make somebody reading it on their computer stop what they are doing and just look off into space for a moment and say, “Whoah!” in their best Bill and Ted voice.
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Why? What makes me think that everything must be profound? Is it because I think that only the profound ever stand out? I suppose that is why I like my fidget spinner so much. A life lesson learned from something so simplistic that many people hate it, just because it is so simplistic.
So, if you haven’t tried a fidget spinner, go out and get a good one, hold it with two fingers, and give it a spin. Rock it back and forth as it’s spinning. See if you don’t feel the urge to spin it again as it slows down. Most importantly, learn the lesson of the fidget spinner: everything you do or write doesn’t have to be profound. Simplicity has its own appeal. Even if people are talking about how simplistic it is, they are still talking about it!
Christopher Slater is a Middle School History teacher in Tennessee. He’s also a husband, father, and author. Alternately titled Being Profound, or not.

“everything you do or write doesn’t have to be profound” — Do you mean that <I>nothing</i> has to, or that <I>not everything</i> has to?
In my opinion, trying to make everything profound would quickly backfire: If <i>everything</i> is profound, profound becomes commonplace and ordinary (and thus no longer profound), but there’s nowhere left to go beyond it.
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One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Because of diversity and stupidity, profound can never become commonplace.
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As a kid, I had an old variation of the fidget spinner. I don’t even remember where I got it from. It was a square piece of wood with two holes and a piece of string going through them. When you tugged the ends of the string away from each other, the square spun. Of course, it was wood and had sharp corners, so “fidget buzzsaw” might be a more appropriate name. Even so, I really liked that toy…
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I actually got a plastic version of that, and it lights up when it spins. It’s just as much of a hazard, though. I’ve hit myself in the face with it a few times.
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“I worry that as a society in general (and writers in particular) we expect everything to be profound.” Lol. So true. Great post. And enjoy your spinner.
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But if I had a fidget spinner, how could I play with my phone? LOL
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