I've been thinking lately about introductions. About how we, as humans, behave the first time we meet someone.
There's a moment when we meet
someone for the first time where we are everything we ought to be.
Attentive and affectionate. Compassionate and charming. Funny and
friendly. Loving and lovable. All those shades of white; where we say and
believe and attempt to convince them that we are open and honest and loyal and trusting and
supportive and nothing of the traits synonymous with every person who
has come before us. We are convinced and convincing of our own virtues.
Of our own blurb. Of the five stars we give ourselves. The rave reviews
of our personality. We are all inclined to give new friends a racy yet intriguing synopsis of our lives before they met us; stories of days past where
we were of course the hero and our every counterpart preceding the one
stood before us, the villain. Always the villain.
is something that baffles me though. Why do some people spend so long
perfecting the blurb of their character that they forget to perfect the
character itself? Instead of striving to write the character that meets the blurb, to finish the novel of our lives with happy endings; we focus on the tiny segment of text on our cover, a five minute glimpse into how great we could be, but are too lazy to actually become. As everyone knows, we shouldn't judge a book by it's cover; yet if that is true, why
do other people so easily fall for this aforementioned blurb? Why do
they not question the fact that people will always begin an acquaintance by
projecting the best possible version of themselves? We forget that the blurb is just a blurb, we try to overlook the whole story; ignoring the hardships and mistakes and cliffhangers and the fact that characters are all inhertantly flawed and that is partially why we love them so.
Those first days with someone new are the brief moments in time where we are
the best possible version of ourselves.But like all moments,
that moment too passes. And when it does we are left with little of what
we said we were. Thought we were. The more time we spend with these people they more they read of our story. Behind the pretty cover and over-edited blurb of our personality. Suddenly, all that bluster and bravado is
lost. Except it's not. We are still trying to convince the recipient of
us that we are still the hero. Except by then they have seen the mask
slip. The villain in us has appeared. They realise there is not so much difference between us and everyone before us after all. They have seen our very humanity and the spell we've cast is broken.
We are now only sometimes charming.
Occasionally open. Infrequently honest. At times loveable. It is then we
are real. We are us. In that moment that the ugly parts of our
character show face. I wonder, if we showed our ugly before parading our
beauty, would we leave less broken hearts in the world?
Wrote this nearly a year ago as an instagram caption for a selfie. I rediscovered it the other day and realised I had never shared it here. Edited slightly, but I like rediscovering old thoughts from a lifetime ago. Journal post coming soon <3