I’ve learned a bit about life over the short time I’ve had one. And in learning this bit, I accumulated a lot of other little bits here and there. I could tell you of the good things that happen because we all want to be that person, even in our own lives – especially in our own lives.
Sometimes we share the sad stories – something that rends the soul, a tragedy made more concrete for our telling because maybe the scars just aren’t enough, maybe the scars need explaining to those we care about, or for some more expressive, a boil pricked for the purulent discharge of our minds and souls to come out of.
Increasingly, people write these things to manipulate the audience – but I say increasingly because we attempt to communicate more, even sharing good and bad stories that have nothing to do with us to fulfill someone else’s agenda.
Few dare to be original enough to write things themselves, to express themselves through a medium. These are the people to cherish. I have the privilege of knowing some and having known more, and for those still around, I have the privilege of seeing them grow and continue to grow in new and sometimes mesmerizing ways. I’ll let you in on a secret. You’ve probably not heard of them. They haven’t tried to break the Internet with their asses or opinions or thoughts.
In the end, very few care about what anyone thinks unless it’s something that they already agree with. If they disagree with it, it doesn’t exist, or worse, it becomes something that they use as target practice for the wounds they feel to the way that they think.
There are so many untitled lives out there, more real than the social facade that newer generations are mesmerized by. Empathy falls away with every share as the people around them, the people that they can touch, the people that they can help… continue. Or not.
And in the end, all of our lives are untitled.