#17: The anatomy of an impulse
What happens in the seven minutes before your brain ruins the fun.
Just seven minutes ago, it was a perfectly average day. I was minding my own business. I was in a decent mood. And then — completely uninvited — a wild impulse appeared.
Not just any impulse.
A capital-I Impulse.
The kind that demands a two-month commitment, a fair bit of guaranteed embarrassment, and a lot of emotional investment.
The sort of idea that makes you whisper to yourself, “okay that’s a bit left field, but… what if..?”
I didn’t ask for this idea.
I wasn’t brainstorming.
I wasn’t journaling.
I wasn’t seeking anything specific.
I was literally just eating chholey chawal, when my brain went, “ummm here’s something I think we should do”. And the next thing you know, I was already ChatGPT’ing questions around its feasibility.
This piece is not really about what that specific impulse is.
It is instead my attempt to dissect the mechanics of an impulse itself. I realise I have never quite thought about this before. And I would really quite like to.
How does it arrive? How does it feel? What is its shelf life? What are the consequences of acting (or not acting) upon it? And, ultimately how acting on impulses shapes how you see the potential of thought bubbles.
Let’s get in.
Part 1: The arrival (ie. the gremlin strikes)
Impulses are not polite.
They don’t schedule appointments or wait for you to be emotionally available.
They show up fully formed, like they’ve been rehearsing this moment for weeks.
Hatless. Coatless. Absolutely barefoot.
“Hey! Wanna blow up your schedule for the next little while? Could be fun!”
And you’re like — Where did you come from? Why are you so loud? Also, maybe??
It’s not a whisper.
It’s a thud.
It hits your chest, then your stomach, and then ricochets into your brain like a rogue pinball.
There’s no lead-up. No foreshadowing.
Just an idea so unexpected and so deliciously unhinged, it activates a very specific part of you.
And that part starts glowing.
Part 2: The urgency window (ie. you have 7 minutes, go!)
Impulses have an expiration date. You’ve got maybe 7–10 minutes before your brain catches up and tries to ruin everything.
That’s the window.
Act now, and you’ll ride the high.
You’ll book the ticket, send the risky message, sign up for the thing that Future You will be mildly furious and amused about — and Present You will feel alive.
Wait too long, and guess who logs in?
That’s right. The prefrontal cortex. Suddenly it’s:
“Do you have time for this?”
“What if it doesn’t work out?”
“You already said yes to something else.”
“What if people think it’s… weird?”
And just like that, the idea that made you feel electric ten minutes ago now feels….stupid.
Risky. Impractical.
Unless… you text your enabler friends right away.
The holy trinity of impulse support.
The ones who say “DO IT” in all caps. “For the plot. I beg you.”
Enablers are not just friends. They are emotional paramedics. They keep your chaotic pulse alive.
Part 3: The internal debate (ie. absolute bedlam)
What happens inside when an impulse lands?
It’s not a measured discussion. It’s not a logical weighing of pros and cons.
It’s a full-blown group chat of your inner selves, all talking over each other.
Gremlin me: “DO IT! THIS IS WHAT LIFE IS FOR!”
Rational me: “Excuse me. No. You already have three unfinished projects and a shit tonne of commitments.”
Therapised me: “Let’s explore what unmet need this idea is speaking to.”
Tired me: “Can we at least have a snack first and maybe a nap?”
Main character me: “We were born for this.”
At this point, whoever gets the mic first often wins.
Part 4: The leap (or the letdown)
Once the storm settles, you’re left with a binary:
Option 1: You act.
You follow the impulse. You say yes. You commit.
It’s probably impractical, slightly expensive, and emotionally intense.
But it’s yours. And you feel electrified.
You’re texting people. You’re pacing. You’re spiraling — but in a fun way.
The dopamine is flowing.
You are main charactering all over the place.
And even if it turns out messy or weird or nothing like what you imagined — it feels oddly correct.
Option 2: You don’t.
You hesitate. You fold. And maybe that was the right call.
But also, you’ll think about it. A lot.
“We almost did something cool.”
But also maybe you won’t and you’ll move on.
I don’t know.
Part 5: The distinction (ie. impulse ≠ intuition)
Let’s clear this up.
Impulse is not intuition.
They are both fast, but they are not the same.
Intuition is your inner AI model. It’s trained on years of experience.
Impulse is your inner raccoon who just saw a glittering object and screamed.
Intuition feels grounded.
Impulse feels like Red Bull in your bloodstream.
Intuition says, “This feels right.”
Impulse says, “This is a little deranged but just the right amount.”
Both have value. But let’s not confuse them.
One’s the seasoned detective.
The other’s the wildcard in the heist movie who just pressed a mysterious red button “to see what happens.”
Part 6: The afterglow
It’s now been… an hour.
The idea is still here.
Not as loud, but persistent.
It’s looking at me like, “so.. are we doing this or not?”
I think we might be.
Just for the plot!
Also, I’ve already texted three enabler friends so there’s that.
Part 7: How it shapes you
I think the more you act on impulses, the higher your ability to act on impulses become.
Whether you should or not is a whole different question and that’s for you to answer.
But the practice of acting on an impulse definitely makes you more likely to grab a future opportunity that shows up. Even if it shows up just in your brain as a thought bubble at first.
Because once you’ve had enough experience of seeing an impulse through, you know fully well that it’s usually figure-out-able.
