I am trying so hard to give up my conceived ideas of truth.
Scratch that. I am losing them.
The more open I become the more I find that the things that I know are simply the things that my perception has informed. And there is so much more to the world than my perception, so much more to love and fear and greet.
Stop telling me who I am. You are so wrapped up in yourself you couldn’t possibly know.
And I am learning.
Every moment of every day I am finding out that I am nothing and everything.
You do not define me. I accept you, I love you, and I mostly respect your opinions as your own. But they are yours.
To hold, mold, to create your life. You do not create mine. I don’t even want to create my own.
I am seeking truth and giving up absolutes.
Universal truths, it seems, are simply human construct. And if we are creating our own truths, then it turns out our truths are nothing. And everything. Nietzsche and Sartre can tell you this so much more eloquently than I.
There is the void of everything
being filled with nothing but
infinite opportunities to create.
And I fear so much giving up certainty.
My stability feels so intertwined with my consistency. The black and white absolutes of always and never, right and wrong, truth and lies. Nuance is the most terrifying existence to wade into. Seas of uncertainty when all I have ever sought was the shore of surety.
The feel of conviction beneath my feet.
The stability of knowing.
The safety of not questioning when
existence seems to be a coalition of unknowable questions.
So off I traipse, slowly, afraid, exhilarated.
I’ll see you there.