The Secret Lives of Others

Other people fascinate me.  I think the primary reason that they fascinate me is that they are not me.  As much as I am aware of this on a conscious level, at the same time, I find myself constantly shocked when presented with evidence of the fact.

Philosoraptor: Expeting the Unexpected
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Lately I’ve had some big surprises about people I know.  They were surprises that left me quite shaken because they meant that the way I had thought things were was not the way they really were.  I’m sure this happens all the time, but it’s still an ego-jarring experience, I guess because I like to think of myself as perceptive.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t know much about anyone who isn’t me.  Because really, here is all I can know about anyone:

  1. What they choose to tell me.  It might be true; it might not; it’s probably somewhere in between.
  2. What I can observe of them.
  3. Whatever I have made up to fill in the blanks.

It’s not much to go on, when you think about it.  The surprise shouldn’t be that other people are able to shock me, but that they don’t do it more often.

This leads me down a rabbit hole of paranoia.  For example, I like to think I like the people I like because of who they are.  But maybe it’s more that I like who I’ve decided they are. And it would make sense then, that the same would be true for them.

Yeah.  Paranoid, unproductive, and depressing headspaces.  Find ’em here folks.  Free today.

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3 thoughts on “The Secret Lives of Others

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