Most of the time, people seem less than solid.
I don’t mean that in an I-see-dead-people, M. Night Shyamalan type of way. It’s not that I see ghosts
Is it that we live in a digital age?
Maybe. Probably. I don’t know for sure. All I do know is that it’s not very fulfilling to be surrounded by dried up, human-shaped shells that never fill out. There’s no satisfaction in getting the disposable bits, the discarded refuse that isn’t really part of who they are. We get 140 characters at a time of daily activity or ironic insight. We get a flash, a moment. A political statement. A religious rant. A host of complaints.
We see photos angled to hide who we really are. Snapshots in time that offer no discussion. There are no questions about what our goals and aspirations are. We don’t talk about why we cry and what makes us scared. We don’t talk about what makes us tick. Our passions. Our shame.
It’s all smoke and mirrors what we do with each other. There’s no flesh and guts and teeth with people that I can tell…not most of the time. No real connections. Instead of solidity, we get wisps that we can never really grasp. Plumes of smoke that almost take shape just before dissipating again. We flip through Facebook feeds liking a comment here and there to satisfy a need to connect that never really shapes into a true picture of the person we’re supposed to be friends with. When it comes down to it if you were asked to describe even 10% of the friends you have on social media, could you do it? Could you pass a test on who your friends are? Do you know more about the people on your friend’s list than what their kids look like and what their generic political stances are? Do you even know that much?
I don’t. I couldn’t pass that test.
That’s part of the reason I enjoy writing letters as much as I do. The conversations are different. There’s no hurry. No hidden agendas. No urgency to squeeze a caricature of who you are into a few characters in a little white box. I value that immensely…getting to really know people in a way that doesn’t exist in the natural world anymore unless sex and marriage is involved and even then it’s far too often that two people never really know each other fully. There’s a romanticism in writing people, in putting your heart and soul onto paper and watching someone else’s form before your eyes in every return letter you read. Should it be that way? Should it take letter-writing to people who aren’t allowed to socialize with the outside world to figure out how to make connections?
I want solid friendships. I want my friends to know who I really am and care about who that person is even if they don’t agree with that person. I want to know your loves, your passions, your fears. I want to know the solidified form of who you are not the watered down, applesauce version of you. I want the fully ripened apple down to the dark, tough bits in the core. I want it all, baby. Because that’s the way it should be.
You say you want a revolution. Well, you know. We all want to change the world…..
You say you got a real solution. Well, you know. We’d all love to see the plan….
It’s simple, really. It doesn’t take destruction or money. Reach out. Reach out to other people in a way that opens you up, that opens them up, that fosters a true connection instead of a collage of hazy snapshots. Reach beyond the husk, the translucent shell hiding the true meat of the person standing there before you. Make the apparition, shimmering and easy, into something more real and yes, more difficult to manage. Stop filling in the gaps with fantasy and turn your reality into a communal sea of real fucking people.
It ain’t that hard. Just hold my hand. I’ll walk you through it.
Today's prompt was Solid for Sunday Confessions with More Than Cheese and Beer. I hope you'll check out her page to read the rest of the link ups and the Facebook page for anonymous confessions, and maybe next week I'll crank out some more fiction. Thanks for reading!
I really loved this blog, and I completely agree with you. I yearn to have someone write me a letter. I used to write so many and receive a few back. That's one of reasons I've kept a journal for so many years. That constant solidity of checking in with myself.ReplyDelete