All I know is what I know.
The experience that I talk about as “my life” is so dense it has to be real. There’s so much detail. But it’s the only thing I know so I’m inclined to believe it’s real. I can never know what it’s like to not be me. To see something through somebody else’s matrix. Yet I can bond with you. We can be stitched together for good. Then we can be separated. That doesn’t happen often, you hope, but when it does it smarts.
The complexity of me being me while you’re being you is staggering. The feelings are a forest that unfolds forever. The story we tell ourselves helps us make sense of the past and prepare for tomorrow. They are ideas that wield physical power. It’s incredible.
And we’re just two people.
Imagine the web of connectivity when you zoom out to humanity as a whole.
Frick.
That’s a lot of people all doing their thing as if it’s the only thing there is to do. And we’re all doing it at the same time. Together.
I think that’s pretty heavy.
It’s like we’re all living in our own little worlds. Literally.
Like bumper cars bouncing off each other.
It’s weird to think about this stuff, I know.
But I’m a weird guy sometimes.
And when I get to thinking this way I’m struck by the reality of my reality. Specifically, how much I live aware of being alive. I think it’s good to think about being alive and what that means on both macro and micro levels. It promotes appreciation for who you are what you’ve been given.
At least that’s how it currently works in my world.
How’s the weather in your world these days?
