A Week of Thoughts #10

There is barely anything on my mind aside from how much I dislike January– same as everybody else. But there are two things I could talk about:

One is ideals.

A few nights ago, I was involved in a conversation about dating: 

“I will date whatever’s available” was the opposing sentiment to my “I’d date someone I wouldn’t hate sharing the rest of my life with.” And we put these differences in opinion down to mitigating factors such as gender. When this conversation was done with, I moved on, until the memory of it cropped up later that evening, and I sighed with exhaustion at the thought. Existing as the most just and well-informed person ever, I was obviously disappointed with being argued against. But what made me tired was my idealism, and the re-realisation that I am 90% ideals and 10% woman. This is something I have learned to live with. As a child I was very airy, very romantic, which made me an adult with annoyingly rigid expectations of others. In other words, I’m ‘main character’— head of your world and mine, sole constitution writer, Lenin if he were also Karl Marx. There is this very depleting feeling that I know what’s best for everybody.

“And there you are, doing it again,” I said to myself after my recollection of a few nights ago, “it’s a bit annoying, you’re a bit annoying.”

But then, I had a change of heart. Though it is exhausting, often problematic work, I do know what’s best for everyone. Yes, I am more idealistic than human, but then, my ideals are no longer my own. When I was younger, my code of ethics for my fellow man was written while I was still at the helm. They were largely informed by ‘that couldn’t be me, so why is it you?’ A bit hateful. Now they are taken from the manual, written by the one who knows how we’re supposed to function. Yes I’m still very dreamy, but I find now that my ideals have supreme backing, are well-linked to how this was all supposed to be anyway. It is not to say that any sentiment no matter how true should be forced on anyone, but it is strange to behave as if your tongue has been cut out. It comes as no surprise that the conversation caused me to projectile vomit like this, being that dating is where ideals come to die. 

Two is believing in your own slay– for lack of a better title.

There is something that occurs when going it alone– ‘it’ being your chosen gate kept field. ‘Alone’ suggests that you are doing something without running it by anyone; and it also alludes to feeling isolated from rules or any suggested methods. You may read this as: ‘how do I know I’m good at this thing, aside from instinct alone– and can I even trust myself.’ The ‘something’ that happens is that it all becomes a little overgrown: your perceived talent or skill, because there is nobody to prune it. 

If anyone has ever been interested in why I write and do so as often as I do, when I clearly consult no one before publishing, well, I’d say I’m only as good as the length of time I’ve been doing it; that, and I routinely impress myself. Why do I impress myself? Or– how can I trust that impression? Because there was a vision, and now that vision is tangible– it was there, now it’s here. And it’s so often precise. Even if others may disagree, nothing I’ve written, no word choice etc is off to me, I know what I meant, I know what I saw. Before I liked myself, what I thought, what I was able to glean from anything was never enough. I’m able to do this with conviction now because my opinion only comes second to one. Funny, I’m sure this blogpost could be better.

image cred: Bardziej Rumaine

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