Last week was a really hard week. I started this blog for the same reason I write songs, poems, short stories, the same reason I’m a camera-whore, the same reason I do most anything. I want to put as much of myself out there as I can so I’m still accessible to my loved ones and hopefully to others as well when I’m dead. So it’s very important to me that everything I do represents my authentic self and not, as so many do, try to craft a perfect persona that I want to be remembered as. As a nihilist, as an atheist, as a skeptic, I feel loathing for the idea that little white lies, collaborative lying, lying by omission, saying there’s two sides to every story, etc, are utterly normal necessary parts of life. This culture of polite dishonesty is just putting a smiley face on our fear that there is nothing underneath, that if we look long and hard for real truth we’ll find there’s nothing and life would lose all meaning. I’m not afraid of that because I’ve started from the point that life is meaningless. We all know we’re going to die and be forgotten but that doesn’t take away the feeling that I should do something with my life, that I’m a perfectly unique individual with control who will impact the universe. To reconcile that knowledge and that feeling we don’t have time to hid behind sugar coated half truths.
I never wanted this to be a gossip column and someone told me last week I should leave names out of it so I’m not airing anyone’s dirty laundry. For one I just hate that kind of writing. This friend, that person, so and so said, it’s convoluted. And two that actually makes it sound more like a gossip column, making people titillated wondering who I’m talking about. And three there’s no point in writing something if I’m not going to explore the entire truth, as uncomfortable as it might be for me or anyone else.
That’s why I’m as factual as possible in my writing. Instead of saying someone was rude I say my feelings were hurt because one is a judgement and the other is a fact. Like I said I hate it when people say there’s two sides to every story. Which is just a way of saying everything felt justified to the person who did it, it’s a way of not looking at one’s actions or consequences under the assumption that the other person is doing it too. And that’s why I don’t do it, I try to record all the information of an event and get to the truth, not put the reader in one person’s shoes or another.
People will hide behind the philosophical idea that one can never know the truth, this could all be a dream, a simulation, blah blah blah but that’s just another case of hiding from the search because it feels too big. But what else are we doing with our lives if not trying to figure out how and why to live them best?
So yes sometimes it does cost me. It’s a choice of leaving something as a private lingering hurt in me forever or letting it be an amplified pubic hurt that I will get passed. And I hold on the knowledge that if telling the truth costs me a friend then the friendship must have been built on a lie.
The final point I want to make in case anyone still thinks I’m being too public in some way is that we all have a life-story and are all entitled to tell our stories. In any form we see fit. Because when we die, and in fact even during our lives, we will be reduced to a small lists of accomplishments and/or failures and all most people will care about only the role you played in their story. No real search for meaning. So while my life still belongs to me I want to explore it in all it’s unbearably wide and infinitely deep aspects. Better that than to keep it small and presentable for my mediocre comfort or the comfort of others.