I mean, I know we all think we know the truth, but the reality is that the truth is what it is and we are not always aware of all of the aspects of it. Multiple things can be true at any given time.
I have not lived an exemplary life. I’ve lied, I’ve cheated (my family and all my friends banned me from playing Monopoly) and probably worse, if I’m honest about it.
I am still not entirely honest with myself and the people around me, because I feel rejection. I have issues with insecurity and depression.
None of these things means I’m a horrible person by necessity, but neither do they make me an exemplary one.
Truth and perspective are the two things I chase most in my life, and as I get older and open myself up to that more, instead of living in safely comfortable fictions and denial, I find the truest thing I know is that truth and perspective are often not in accordance, but more of one inevitably creates more of the other.
Enough perspective and truth is revealed; how could it not be?
Truth knocks us out of our fictions, our blind spots; it provides perspective where none may have existed.
More truth. More perspectives. These are the only things that matter.
There is truth. There is perspective.
These things are not mutually exclusive. But one perspective, held without truth…
Well, there’s the rub, isn’t it?
Target: 1400 words
Written: 791 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
Comics: Fables 5-8
Music: Working Class Hero, Green Day (by way of John Lennon)