There is an age old problem swimming around in all of our heads, at least I believe, a thought seeped in suspicion but falling into that little gap between paranoia and reality, some kind of self-harming little part of your brain that likes to convince us that we’re about to experience the worst whenever something slightly important comes up; probably the same part of our brain that would have us believe that we are significantly less loved than we would like to believe. Whether this is rational or irrational I tend to veer towards the pessimistic side of that though process, not because that’s where I think the truth lies, because sometimes I honestly can’t tell without getting into a real downer, and the worst side is less like to disappoint if it is true.
I’m not about to deny myself a spike of optimism now and then but I find it easier to give myself a much shorter height to fall down rather than risking balancing on what can be a very unstable rail at a mountain that I didn’t inherit.
Every human being wants to be loved, but what percentage of us are too scared to ask ourselves the simple question of ‘how loved are we really?’ Maybe because we like to keep up some comforting illusions, maybe because we would rather pretend that we’re more Bruce Willis than Tom Cruise, maybe because we honestly can’t think of how to work that out without being so blunt as to seem paranoid and desperate. But perhaps there are some of us who honestly know that, and don’t rely on jumping a gap in our knowledge to get there, a gap usually filled with some sort of hesitant trust that we can’t always be sure is deserved. Perhaps, when it comes to social situations, we are the least wise of all the creatures by the weird irony of having one of the most complex social systems. Perhaps the fact that we can worry so tremendously dooms us to never know where we stand, whereas in pack animals an individual’s place is so clear as to be stark.