I refuse to believe that people are really as dull and stupid as they represent themselves to be. If I spend most of my time examining the world I live in and my place in it, it should stand to reason that other people are as well. Why is it then, that we discuss the most worthless parts of our experience? Small talk tortures me. I intentionally look angry all the time because I want to dissuade people from talking to me about the weather or how their kid did in his soccer game over the weekend. The sad thing is, as I listen to people around me talking, I think they have convinced themselves that the mindless prattling chit chat that they engage in on a daily basis is somehow meaningful. We have the ability to connect on a scale much greater than ever before yet we keep our true selves hidden away as though someone could snatch it away from us.
We should get something out of connecting with another person. I want to feel like I have grown, or given someone else the opportunity to grow. Having one good conversation where vulnerabilities are shared and a bond is forged is so much better than having a thousand encounters exchanging pleasantries. Fake smiles and mindless banter leave me feeling dirty. I won't participate in this charade anymore. I don't want to meet your public face, I don't want to play a role to occupy your time. Awkward silence is less uncomfortable for me than awful banter. Too often when you first meet someone the first question exchanged is “what do you do?” Does a person's profession define them? We should be asking more relevant questions.
There is nothing I enjoy more than the rush of meeting someone who challenges me intellectually or spiritually. Even an argument makes me feel alive like nothing else. Conversations where I can reflect on what was discussed for days afterward fuel me, I feel enriched by them. I love the emotions that plague me when someone challenges my conceptions of what really matters and the true meaning of life. Lately it seems that those days of endless debates and heated arguments are long behind me. Has the fire gone from our hearts or did life just get in the way? I can barely recognize humanity anymore. What have we become?
When I was younger, wide-eyed and full of wonder, I was enamored with life. I want to be able to feel that way again but now I can't help but feel like we are all doomed. Each day is a reflection of the last and I feel hopeless. That spark, the burning passion I had once felt, is reduced to a smoldering ember gasping to hang on to life. I don't see passion in my contemporaries. The blinding obsession with something or someone that yields great stories, art, and music. The suffering and elation it can bring seems like it has gone from the world and everything is awash in a gray, mundane fog. Is it that people are too jaded to care about anything or are they so anesthetized by meds that they forgot how to feel?
I thrive on the highs and lows of passion. As much as the lows kill me, I wouldn't trade them for anything because they give value to the soaring exultation the high points bring. Admittedly the lows are usually longer in duration and at points death seems like a better option, but reaching those highs becomes all that matters. Everyone should be passionate about something, be it love or rage, anything to feel some real emotions. When you do, share it with someone. Set passionless hearts ablaze in the fires of inspiration and watch the world burn.