Sometimes I wonder what I mean to people. I feel a deep desire to be understood and seen. I think it’s a normal thing. I mean, as humans, we’re pretty much designed to connect with each other and thrive on these connections. But what if the desire to connect overcomes the desire to remain authentic?
I like to consider myself a pretty genuine person. Definitely an oversharer. I may not blatantly lie about myself, but I do notice with some people I hide things. Erase some of my truth.
I really admire people who speak their truth openly. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to feel such a deep connection with other artists. Seeing the truths others share inspires me. Reminds me that what other people think isn’t always so important. It’s the meaning behind the artist’s work that really matters. Some like to misconstrue or redefine but at the end of the day the artist is the only one who knows the truth.
People. People are tricky. Relationships are tricky. Romantic or platonic, it doesn’t really matter. I like to think I’m good at both but that’s a lie. I’m not saying I’m not good at connecting with people. I’m great at connecting with people. I love people. I just think that it may be possible to find too much meaning in people.
When the fear of scarcity or not-enough-ness creeps in it’s hard to keep the full me alive. What becomes important is the impact and impression, not the intention or reality. It’s like I convince myself there’s a better version of me and that version happens to be one people-pleasing-ass-bitch (excuse my potty mouth).
Finding meaning in others can be dangerous. I often find myself absorbed in my relationships with people. Oversaturated with infatuation. Losing connection and understanding in myself. Forgetting that worth and meaning come from within. I don’t have to be the center of someone else’s universe to have a galaxy full of constellations of my own.
I wonder if everyone else feels like there's a million different thems. Maybe it just takes time. Security. It’s just little things. Dumb things that I feel would shift people’s feelings slightly off about me, I hide. Then I lay in bed awake at night wondering why I’m hiding.
It feels good to make people happy. Help people see how special they are. But what good is it to help people see themselves if I can’t see me? Sometimes I think it just makes rejection easier. But then I’m left questioning if things would’ve turned out the same if I wasn’t hiding.
I guess when it comes to finding meaning all that really matters is what I find in myself. Sometimes it’s easier to believe in God, the Universe, whatever it is. I don’t really know what to believe but I don’t want to give up looking just yet.
I used to think I wanted to give up. Giving up is easy. It’s like hiding. If I give up I’m not failing because I tried, I fail because I didn’t. But what meaning does anything have if I don’t give it any? Without intention and effort behind action things are meaningless.
If someone believes that God is the answer to the absurdity of life and feels that the only way to give this life meaning is to spread that belief, great. If someone else finds their power and joy spending time in nature, trusting in the stars to align their fate, cool. To each their own.
What’s important isn’t to decide who’s right and to condemn everyone else. It’s to live fully in one’s truth. Find meaning and let everyone else find their own.
I think that’s the problem with finding meaning. When some people find it, their conviction is so strong they’re convinced that anyone believing in something else is inferior. I guess that’s why it’s important to practice shifting perspectives.
When I feel stuck, what helps me most is seeing things from the other side. Sometimes I become so attached to what I believe to be the truth that I forget there can be more than one truth to a story. A story is just what I tell myself. A perspective colored by my past experiences and current emotions.
What if I let it all go? The emotions, the fears, insecurities, ego. Just exist. Understand. Maybe then I’d realize that the deeper meaning to life is in living, being present. Maybe love would be easier. Maybe I’d stop wondering about all the maybes.
Maybe if we all learned to appreciate our own galaxies instead of searching for shinier stars we’d feel more content. Maybe there’d be more love and less hate. Less envy, jealousy and rage. Or maybe we’ll just keep shoving our beliefs down each other's throats til we all choke to death. Who knows. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
