One of These Things

There are many things that are important to each of us, right?

Well I don’t care about those. So right now, I’m gonna focus on the “us” part. Or rather, the “me” part, cause I’m selfish like that. And I’m trying to answer the question, as everybody in this damn world is, “Who the FUCK am I?” I have a name, sure. But obviously, that isn’t enough. I’m talking a full-fledged identity thing. But really, that question is pretty damn hard to answer. I mean, everybody is unique, right? Sure but… not by much. It’s like we’re all points on the edge of a circle. Sure, that dot all the way in Norway is pretty different from you. He eats salmon all day and has to fend off polar bears with sticks as he makes his morning commute to operate a train station. But this is a circle we’re talking about. So there’s that dot right next to you, and while TECHNICALLY it’s a different dot, it is NOT different enough for anybody to care.

Again, let’s say I have an identical twin. We look EXACTLY alike, and short of a DNA test, it’s impossible to tell us apart. We like the same things, think pretty similar. We’ll get the same gifts on our birthday, get the same compliments, get the same grades in school, score a pair of hot twin supermodels (mine is the hotter one tho), you get the idea. So to most people, we’re essentially, practically the same person. Then let’s say we each have totally different circles of friends. I would be able to live a day in the life of my twin probably without anyone being any the wiser. But I wouldn’t be able to fool his friends. They’d probably pick up on the tiny little differences that make me… not him. Like noticing the 1 degree difference between me and the dot next to me.

What I’m trying to say is that, to the great majority of people, we are not unique, at all. We’re clustered into our genders, age groups, social standings, and stuff like that. But when we look closer, to our friends and stuff we ARE. And it’s impossible to be REALLY unique, in any way that matters to the great majority. Even famous people can’t do it. They have to deal with classifications like Dumb Blonde Model, Girly Man Singer, Manly Girl Actress, Arrogant Hollywood Creative Type, etcetc.

I’ve also noticed a great deal of my hating people stems from their proverbially yelling “OOH, OOH LOOKIT MEEEE I’M SOOOOOO COOL.” And sometimes, it isn’t proverbial. In fact, most of what we do it motivated by the intention of trying to be seen and recognized by everybody else. The guy who gives everybody free stuff, the guy who always gets drunk, the guy who everybody hates, the guy you know is an asshole but everybody seems to like, the guy who seems to be good at everything so people like him, the guy who is a douche and has more friends that he should, etcetc.

See, this doesn’t work. And unless you actually try to make genuine connections with people, they will not remember you, and you will be clustered into the group of people who are annoying. We can’t be like one of those superhero teams where every member is different and has a totally different skill set and use to the group, such that they wouldn’t be able to function properly if even one member was missing. And they would each have a challenge only they can complete when the team is raiding the villain’s lair. Even if he has a lame power like Heart. There are far too many people in this world for each of us to have an extremely specific role that nobody else can do. When any of us dies, the world at large will not give a fuck. And short of running for president or something, there’s nothing we can do about that. The world won’t be crippled by our loss, because there will be somebody else, or a combination of somebodies who can fill our space no problem. The only ones who will care that you’re dead are the people who you’re actually close to. It’s your role in THEIR lives that nobody else can fill.

Unfortunately, nobody seems to realize this. And if they do, it’s still hard to fight that instinct to try to be remembered for some stupid superficial reason, just for the sake of people knowing who they are, and hopefully remembering them. Hell, I’m sure even I do it. And where does this end up? With me hating everybody. Just a little. Well, just a little for MOST people.

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2 responses to “One of These Things

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