I am sitting in my office. But in a much (seemingly) realer sense I’m thousands of miles away. I’m sitting in a cave made of crystal. A fortress of solitude, so to speak. Actually it’s Superman’s fortress of solitude, so I hope he doesn’t show up any time soon. I’d build my own, but his is so much cooler. It is a little cold though. And he should get a rug, because the floor is solid ice. And there is this old dude, who claims to be my father, telling me how I should respect the humans, and that I was sent here to protect them, and bla bla bla, leave me alone gramps, I’m trying to do some thinking here!
Reality, it’s a fickle creature. It means so many different things to so many different people, and yet each person’s reality holds the same amount of weight. Actually, each person’s reality is more valid than every other person’s reality if you consider the fact that we most often value our own opinion over everyone else’s.
Why are we so attached to our current beliefs? Why do we always think we are right? What is it about the memories that are already formed in our brains that make them more valuable (today) than the memories that we will form tomorrow? Why do we place so much emphasis on what we know to be true?
I don’t know about you, but I learn that my beliefs were wrong, or that a greater truth exists, all the time. I am proven wrong often, and I continue to learn. And yet, still, I tend to believe that my current thoughts are correct, over and over. I continue to argue with people with the (pseudo) knowledge that I know right, I know what’s best, and that you need to listen to me and adhere to what I’m saying. It’s quite arrogant of me, wouldn’t you say (of course you would, until I said that you do the exact same thing, which would put you on the defensive, rendering this entire statement ineffective, and causing us to argue for the rest of the day… pfffffffffff.)?
So what is in us biologically that drives us to believe what we know to be true so strongly? I used to think it was mostly men, but I realize that women feel this way just as strongly as us, it’s only recently that society deemed it fit to allow women to voice an opinion (and I’m not here to argue about women’s right, at least not now, so hold those thoughts for another day), so now we are starting to hear it from them more.
I’m in a strange place right now. I’m about 100 days from being married, and while I want to share everything with this girl, I find that I fear losing my independence. I imagine she feels the same. I am really into who I am RIGHT NOW, and I don’t want that to change. I am strong in my purpose, diligent in pursuing my goals, and enthusiastic about the man I’m becoming. I don’t want marriage to come in and wipe it all away, leaving a shell of a man, who shops for kitchen appliances, curtains, and coffee tables and lacks passion, enthusiasm, or a spine. Today’s Ibrahim is my favorite in a long time, and I don’t want to see him go.
I keep telling myself, “our marriage will be different” and “she understands me” and “I can still do the things that I want,” and I believe that to be true. The only problem is what if what I want starts to shift. What if I become content, complacent, and docile? What if I become DOMESTICATED?!?! Then what becomes of the world that I want to change? Then what becomes of this reality, the one I hold in my mind today? Does it die along with the passionate Ibrahim? It there a heaven for the best of intentions, even if it is replaced by a new reality that cares little about the big things and lots about the little ones? Can I rest my head at night knowing that the all inspired reality that I hold today has a place in history where it will be remembered?
No, no I can’t. No it doesn’t. Should I choose to change, and consequently lose the fiery passion that burns within (not herpes), this reality will die a slow, painful, and horrendous death. It will not be remembered, nor will anyone even notice it’s gone. Except me. And I will be forever guilty for its death.
Reality is an attention whore. Take your eyes off of her for a second and she’ll be gone, leaving you without a backbone, shopping for minivans.
Fuck minivans.
