It’s a firm belief of mine that people with a lot of creative energy are born with significantly more emotional energy than people who like things like…numbers. And history. And other things with definitive and completely anti-subjective (objective?) ends.
Typically I love to wallow in my God-given creative energy and write mind-numbingly awesome (i.e. sarcastic and at times exaggerated) posts about how single I am and how absurdly ludicrous my life can be. Other times I get all introspective and self-aware and end up writing one of these ditties (did I just use “ditty” in a sentence? I know. I’m terrified too).
I read the other day (somewhere…?) about America’s tendency toward over-cleanliness. I don’t mean to say that we are unusually tidy (because that would just be funny…and incorrect). We do, however, have a serious issue with hand sanitizer and the regular utilization of Lysol.
Lysol does its job. As does hand sanitizer and whatever else you spray your life down with. By doing this, though, we kill the bad and the good germs in a serial massacre of the unnecessary type.
Yes, some germs are good (I’m writing this under the assumption that people don’t know this (even though they should). Alcohol consumption and brain cell depletion happens, though, so…).
They build our immunity to things and make us less susceptible to (or at least a little stronger in our war against) bigger sicknesses that could potenitially…you know, kill us.
Does that make sense? Sometimes we need to get sick so we can get sick at later dates and not die.
My mind works in a way that says this fact can be morphed into a completely applicable and rational argument for the human condition when it comes to relationships.
Sometimes we have to go through things that suck in order for bigger and badder things to suck less.
That’s my insight for today, friends.
There’s no cure for the common cold. And there’s no common cure for the less than desirable individuals that somehow (at times) penetrate your bubble and affect it way more than you ever thought they might.
Sometimes you have to walk through life and miss people who don’t matter. Sometimes you have to feel small and vulnerable and insecure. Sometimes it just has to not…feel good.
Some things you have to experience…and they aren’t going to make you bigger or stronger or better. In fact, they might make you paranoid and delusional and mildly terrifying.
Sometimes it’s just a lesson in conditioning. And movement.
Lots of movement.
Maybe to a foreign country.
I’m still debating.