I admit it. I’m a hypocrite. A big, fat one. We’re all hypocrites at varying times in life. If you can admit that, at least it makes you an honest hypocrite.
I’ve been flipping a lot of scripts in my head, and I can’t say it’s making my life less painful, but it is making it more bearable. The truths of the world and the Universe aren’t always the most delightful things to learn. They're often hard to hard to swallow, but once they go down they leave you feeling satiated in a way you hadn't known before.
Life is really just the stories we tell ourselves. It's a series of realizations that you hold onto and maybe, eventually let go of.
It's realizing circumstance and luck are synonymous and those are the only things that make us us. That we didn’t choose our parents, nor did they choose us. That our family who we love so much (or not at all) wouldn't be ours in some other realm, but without them we wouldn’t be us. That where we grew up and the people we met in those places who became part of our story did so whether we wanted them to or not.
That even when we gain the money and the urge to travel beyond what we know was just an idea planted by some force unknowing to me. And that all the strangers we meet will never be all the strangers we could meet. And that we’ll never really know everyone the way we try to make everyone out to be.
That all the ideas I thought were solid are actually fleeting. That religion and a belief in God are as much part of these circumstances as not believing in them. That free-will is an illusion. That even when I thought I was cool snorting those drugs and drinking those drinks, I wasn’t choosing them… they had chosen me. That being cool won’t fucking matter when we’re dead. That being cool shouldn’t have mattered the way loving others and loving myself should’ve.
That loving others and loving ourselves is synonymous. That seeing a homeless man crying on the ground begging for help wouldn’t inspire me to actually help him. That walking by was easier because what could I do? That his pain was so immense all I could do was turn away and focus back in on mine. That I’m not who I thought I was, and maybe I never will be. Maybe to think I know myself isn’t a good idea anyway since we’re always changing. Then again maybe that's what makes me who I am...
That not every person you love will love you back at the same time, or even at all. Because maybe they don’t love themselves enough, or maybe they love themselves too much. Or that perhaps love wasn’t what you thought it was at all. That it’s not the box we wished it was. Where we could put the things or the humans we want to keep most and leave them there to gather dust. They'd grow old and the idea we held of them would eventually cement in that dust, but at least they’d always remain ours. Sitting there in that dusty box that we eventually don’t know what to do with, so we carry it around from place to place only to set it on a shelf - to gather dust.
That breaking free means submitting. That admitting I know nothing is really the only truth I know. That freedom doesn’t look the same for everyone. That the life I get to have is one that so many could only hope for, and that I pissed so much of it away on blackouts and feeling bad about the life I had. The life I still have.
That everyone we know and love will die. That we’ll never have forever, and yet we’ll always be apart of this Universe as long as it exists, but never, ever continuing in the same form. That consciousness can’t be explained and the harder we try the harder it becomes. That maybe none of that matters anyway. Maybe that’s what makes it matter so much.
And after all this back and forth of comparing who you were and who you are now, you realize you’re a hypocrite. And maybe you always will be on some spectrum as you try to learn the truth while forgetting what you thought was true. You realize you can’t become what you will be next while still clinging onto all the ideas you had of yourself. All the dreams and all the fears are just ideas. And if there is nothing to hold onto, what is there to hold onto?
Is everything really just moment to moment? Is every life you never lived happening somewhere else? Is it even worth considering, or is it better to look forward? Or is it best to look down? Or up to the sky for answers? What if there aren’t any answers? What if we just get to exist like this right now? Is it still worth showing up for? I do believe so. I believe the short time we have here is the grand showcase, and this could be it. As Sam Harris says, "Life is not a rehearsal."
But what about all the time I wasted? If you could go back in time, what would you change?
If I could go back in time I would’ve done some things differently. I would’ve waited to have that first drink because I knew I’d love it too much. I would’ve told the boy I lost my virginity to, to go fuck himself, and to keep him and his narcissistic dick as far away from me as possible. I would’ve told myself you can do whatever you want in this life instead of you can’t - you can at least attempt. I would’ve left my first boyfriend after he cheated on me, and I would explain it’s because we both deserve better. I would’ve thanked him from the bottom of my heart for being honest because that takes courage and comes from a place of love, and I'd let him go instead of making him stay as punishment. I would’ve held the first real love of my life closer every chance I had, even though I knew we weren’t going to end up together. I would’ve said "I love you" more with honesty instead of fear. I would’ve told myself having fat didn’t make me fat. I would’ve told myself to feel is better than to numb. And I wouldn’t have put the heaps of substances into my body at the amounts I did because it wasn’t actually fun, it was actually just robbing me of time.
But if I could really go back in time, I wouldn’t do any of those things because I know damn well (and so do you) that I wouldn’t be who I am writing this now without every single thing that happened. That the lessons only come once you're able to learn them, and they are often painful and only make sense with some time and clarity. Whatever agency we have in this life is slim to none and sometimes you just have to say and do the things you’re going to say and do and deal with the consequences as they come. Whether you're being "good" or "bad" you have to be those things when you're being them. And you have to let yourself grow out of them when it's time to grow out of them, too. And you embrace the sense that you have now may not make any sense in the future. Because that’s how you become. You go through everything and you cope the best you can. And everything, all of it, makes you more.
And you become more and more of who you are, and less of who you'll never be again. And one day nostalgia will slip in and you’ll wish you had done it differently. But you’ll remember just the same that you couldn’t have. And you’ll laugh. Because it all seems so fucking crazy - this human life. And you’ll go to work and you’ll pay your bills. And you'll have some laughs and get on stage and try to speak about these very things even though you’re shaking at the thought that no one will get you. And you’ll do it anyway. And then sometimes, someone comes up and says, “I get it.” And you feel complete.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
I’m a hypocrite. And so are you.
Opening yourself up to these truths means you can't ever un-see them. And that's the risk you take. You let go of who you were a moment ago and you allow yourself to move forward.
Everything is circular. We exist in circles. We repeat systems and habits of living until someone (or something) disrupts them in a big way. Then we go on repeating a new cycle of living, and hopefully it gets better all of the time. And not better in the sense that you're just happy. No one is just happy. But you can go on being better knowing that you're better at being. And then you write silly blogs in your room at night, and you laugh. Because you're such a fucking hypocrite. X