Because People are People
It's really a terrible thing, this image I conjure up of the lives that people I admire live.
I imagine their careers as the perfectly blended concoction of fashionable projects and altruistic goals that I suspect are accompanied by sizable checks in their checking account. .
These people I admire, I imagine that their nights are filled with lavishly prepared dinners and expensive wines or choice beers with the perfect bit of witty conversation to compliment the refined flavors of their food. They move effortlessly from dinner parties to nights out on the town to the quintessential evening at home; they're romantic and thoughtful with their spouse in each of these passing moments. Everything they say is intelligent and everything they do is thoughtfully done.
They, indeed, live the perfect life in the image my mind creates for them.
Surely these people I admire would love to live in my head, but the trouble is they do not.
And I've done their humanity a disservice by believing, even for a moment, that they do.
Despite what I sometimes think, people are people everywhere and always and to believe otherwise robs them of their humanity. Because it's in the arguments and the monotony, the spilled drinks and the awkward silence that we realize our imperfections. To portray perfection or believe it's found in some other man or woman denies the reality that we are broken people in need of more than what we, ourselves possess.
We all need something more - to believe otherwise is to live in a world found in your own head.
I imagine their careers as the perfectly blended concoction of fashionable projects and altruistic goals that I suspect are accompanied by sizable checks in their checking account. .
These people I admire, I imagine that their nights are filled with lavishly prepared dinners and expensive wines or choice beers with the perfect bit of witty conversation to compliment the refined flavors of their food. They move effortlessly from dinner parties to nights out on the town to the quintessential evening at home; they're romantic and thoughtful with their spouse in each of these passing moments. Everything they say is intelligent and everything they do is thoughtfully done.
They, indeed, live the perfect life in the image my mind creates for them.
Surely these people I admire would love to live in my head, but the trouble is they do not.
And I've done their humanity a disservice by believing, even for a moment, that they do.
Despite what I sometimes think, people are people everywhere and always and to believe otherwise robs them of their humanity. Because it's in the arguments and the monotony, the spilled drinks and the awkward silence that we realize our imperfections. To portray perfection or believe it's found in some other man or woman denies the reality that we are broken people in need of more than what we, ourselves possess.
We all need something more - to believe otherwise is to live in a world found in your own head.
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