There are times in all of our lives, in which moments abound and hit us square in the conscious mind so hard that even attempting to lie to ourselves becomes an impossible feat. These are the moments where we delve somewhat introspectively inward, and cannot formulate any kind of answer to pretend that we are a perfect being, and have to accept that portions of who we are are indeed nowhere near as pure and decent as we wish them to be. Sometime over the past few days, I have personally found these exact thoughts hit me hard enough to merit a more serious level of conducive thought, and accept that perhaps, as much as I don't like to or really want to admit it... I am in many ways a self-absorbed prick of a person!
There has been no event or moment that has caused this psychological estimation of my mindset as such - if anything this has been a quiet and generally productive period. I have written another 5,000 words to my book, and am now only another 5,000 or so from completion of the full manuscript, albeit in its first, full draft. But it has been the thought of how I generally perceive and react to others which has made me wonder aloud to myself. I am not a bad person, I am by all accounts a pretty decent and friendly guy. I will queue and be patient, I clean up after myself, I will ask people how their day is going - and honestly be interested in how they are feeling. The problem lies in the sad truth that I view everyone as living in my reality, and that the world I live in is more important than that of any other soul, which of course, much like everyone else, it really isn't. This makes me a selfish man... and I am ashamed to admit it, but it is true. I see every interaction in terms of how it affects me and me alone. The person or people I communicate with are there to merely assuage my ability to use the levels of psychological manipulation and head games I have become so good at playing with people, so much so that I tend to forget that all human souls are, just like my own, riddled with doubt, fear, insecurity, and the simple desire to be accepted, validated, and feel loved enough to know that their existence carries meaning. All existence carries meaning... Every last one.
In life, we receive back exactly as much as we give to it, and I believe as I rapidly approach my thirties, I need to make a concious effort to take greater stock in the hopes, dreams, and emotional circuitry of others. It is not that I do not care, and have no concern, I have simply spent far too long obsessing over my own, as the Ultimate Warrior calls it, pile of poop. And this is counter-productive, time consuming, and in evidential fact, totallty pointless.
I have empathy, I care for other people, I do not enjoy nor wish to effect any form of pain on anybody. I am smart enough to know which buttons to push and how to push them, and must stop doing so.
I have a girlfriend to love, friends to communicate and grow with, and, even though I really have no idea how to do so, a family to associate myself with. Time is precious, and so is life. And I wish the best for everyone I ever have met or known.
Life in itself is hard enough through the nature of it, without us as humans making it harder for each other. So I am openly expressing my immaturity in the hope it will exorcise some form of maturity. And, as the million dollar man Ted Dibiase once said ... 'maturity comes with the acceptance of responsibilty!' Though I think he may have nicked it from Spiderman's foster Father.
So I begin by wishing all who reads this, a happy and prosperous week ahead... and maybe a little sunshine too!
Lee.
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