Dear Diary,
Lao Tzu wrote, “Ordinary men hate solitude. But the Master makes use of it, embracing his aloneness, realizing he is one with the whole universe.” I have spent several years alone and have specifically meditated upon and written about my connections to everyone as a whole. My essays, monologues, short poems, alone series captions, and now diary entries have connected people for over ten years. Never once, though, would I have ever accepted the title ‘master.’ I have struggled with the opposite problem, where I diminish any accomplishment and focus on every fault. It takes ten years to grow a tree but only ten minutes to cut one down.
For some time, my social interactions, regardless of age, gender, or status, have an enlightening common thread. With few exceptions, the central communication styles of all of them were layered in insincerity. To understand these respective people’s intent or purpose, you had to navigate through minefields of sarcasm and cynicism. These people would often tell ‘jokes’ that were meant to convey truths but said in a way wherein if they were ill-received, then the teller could easily escape, and other non-answers. Over time, I have become increasingly frustrated with these interactions and the people who use them as a default method of communication.
It has dawned on me recently, in my meditations on validation and identity, that I have been focused almost exclusively on ‘doing.’ We define ourselves in what we ‘do.’ I am a (job title.) How often do we give adequate weight to ‘being?’ I may never ‘do’ things the way I used or wish to, but when I look at my contributions to people internally, I can see things that no product can replicate. Through the years of solitude and learning how to cherish every little thing I got, I learned the value of sincerity. I believe myself to have always been a sincere person, but I grew a distaste for the games of sarcasm and the time we waste, leaving each other wondering what we truly wanted to say.
Recently, it has been brought to my attention my ability to relate to almost anyone, anywhere, anytime. People have given me feedback on how my writing is broad in perspective and paints pictures clear in emotional depth and weight. Given my limitations with memory and concentration, any such accomplishment stems purely from emotional availability and sincerity. I mean what I say, and I give the benefit of the doubt the person to whom I’m speaking does as well. I am willing to be trusting and vulnerable. I give of myself freely, if perhaps a little too enthusiastically at times. Lao Tzu also writes, “Do your work, then step back. The only path to serenity.” I dream of reciprocity but rarely demand it. I can only try to be the best ‘me’ I can and hope for the best.
Let us pretend that I am a ‘Master of Sincerity.’ Other than a cheer that ‘yay, I’m good at something!’ Where do we go from here? Actually, I think potentially several places. Going from not being good at anything to being good at something is significant. I was once the person who was naturally good at everything. Unfortunately, tragedy struck, and I struggled to walk and recognize people’s faces. To have something I can understand I’m good at, and not just have other people say so, is essential. It isn’t something I can put on a new resume block, but this is about me and how I can look at myself.
I will continue to be a different kind of person; insincerity is the language of the land. People will continue to find comfort keeping one another at a distance, not just because of COVID-19. Perhaps, I will find someone one day who feels intuitively connected, as I do, and is not interested in avoidance. Of course, we have our sensitive spots. However, I’ve come to instinctively and intuitively value human connection, and bonds aren’t formed through pre-emptive defensiveness and insincerity. We connect through shared authentic experiences. It isn’t easy to embrace someone fully when one hand holds up your mask. My usual position is one from which I enjoy the wind and ponder the wonder of nature. The walls in my vicinity are akin to ruins, crumbled and easily surmounted. I am easily accessible, and that can be frightening, but I think watching the sunset on the waves is better than staring at the inside of a fortress. While my little patch of the world is often lonely, I often think of the people who have abandoned me to retreat within their walls. Do they ever poke their heads out and think, ‘I’d rather be out there?’
Being exposed is often uncomfortable, and anxiety comes with being judged by other people. We do not live in a vacuum, devoid of meaning or purpose, separated from each other completely. Deep down, we yearn for validation. We want to know we exist, and we have value. Seeking validation manifests itself uniquely in each of us, and it is something we have to manage carefully, but it is there somewhere. To know that’s what I’m good at is comforting, even if some people aren’t ready for it and have to retreat. I used to stare at the water and demand to know, “What’s wrong with me?” I was convinced it had to be me. It has taken me many years and many mistakes to tear my walls down and understand I am not always the problem. Increasingly, people tell me directly it isn’t my fault. Now it’s up to me to believe them.
…and therein lies another problem with insincere people. When it matters most, can you believe their messages? Thoughts for another day. For now, I’m just going to be grateful from this morning’s perspective. May it last for a bit.