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Sunday, September 23, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Shadow
One of my favorite things is to find out about people's weaknesses and fears.
Not because I'm trying to manipulate, but because it's hard to understand people when they seem perfect. I can't connect to the jock who looks to be having a splendid life, but the awkward kid who's been through a lot is right on track to being my best friend. I like helping people, and if I can't help you, then I can therefore only hurt you. Why would I ever want to be a leech, sapping resources from someone without retribution? One's flaws are an integral part of one's humanity, and it's that humanity, that mutual human experience, that makes for meaningful relationships.
Strangely, I find myself incredibly reluctant to display my own inadequacies. Knowing that I get irritated at "perfect" people, why do I work so hard to seem like one? Is it because I think others want me to be perfect? Or is it that I don't want to share my darkness in case the other person doesn't have any? Either way, I fear my fear; my sorrow saddens me. Like the groundhog, my own shadow calls in the frozen clouds of a long winter.
Hypothetical situations always have unclear resolutions, but this is still a fun one to ponder: What if our wrongs were all laid bare? Would the world dissolve into chaos as we find there is no one to trust, or would we find that we are all much more similar than we thought?
For now I'll subsist on late-night questionnaires.
Not because I'm trying to manipulate, but because it's hard to understand people when they seem perfect. I can't connect to the jock who looks to be having a splendid life, but the awkward kid who's been through a lot is right on track to being my best friend. I like helping people, and if I can't help you, then I can therefore only hurt you. Why would I ever want to be a leech, sapping resources from someone without retribution? One's flaws are an integral part of one's humanity, and it's that humanity, that mutual human experience, that makes for meaningful relationships.
Strangely, I find myself incredibly reluctant to display my own inadequacies. Knowing that I get irritated at "perfect" people, why do I work so hard to seem like one? Is it because I think others want me to be perfect? Or is it that I don't want to share my darkness in case the other person doesn't have any? Either way, I fear my fear; my sorrow saddens me. Like the groundhog, my own shadow calls in the frozen clouds of a long winter.
Hypothetical situations always have unclear resolutions, but this is still a fun one to ponder: What if our wrongs were all laid bare? Would the world dissolve into chaos as we find there is no one to trust, or would we find that we are all much more similar than we thought?
For now I'll subsist on late-night questionnaires.
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