what’s real. . .
I was thinking about how well we think we might know someone. Especially someone close to us, like our spouse or someone in our family, like a sister or a daughter. I’ve come to the conclusion lately that it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s an impression of what we think about them, tinged with feeling. How much room is there for honesty with all that thinking and feeling going on?
Some people are pessimistic and others look toward the best of everything. I’m one of the latter, often idealizing someone’s character or abilities just because I love them. I think we all do that. Then, something happens and we are rudely awakened to what’s real. Ego and arrogance coupled with a sense of self-satisfaction or smugness spurts out.
No matter. Because what is truly most important, it seems to me, is to be real to ourselves. To authenticate who we really are within. That takes some honesty, a slice of humble pie and removing the rose-colored glasses to take a good look at what’s real. Actually, you know, it doesn’t look bad at all.