Are we destined to be at the mercy of some arbitrary truth that has mysteriously been formulated for us, or do we create and mold our truth? It has taken years of soul searching to accept that truth, my truth, your truth, and the truth of the world, is not realized until we accept it as truth. In other words, truth isn’t waiting to be discovered, it’s created by the consciousness of each and every one of us. Which is why, it cannot be defined.
This may sound like an oxymoron and on paper probably looks like one, but the ideas, dogma, and rationales that are here today in the minds of each individual, may be gone tomorrow. Hence, truth is fluid, vacillating along a plane of possible realities for that individual. I have been self-righteous- arrogant in fact, about my principles. Then, after a dramatic moment of enlightenment, my opinion changes. Hopefully, as I evolve, the change is for the better, although one would have to define “better” to determine this, and this too vacillates on the same plane of principles. Choices that I have made- choices that at the time seemed to be the most advantageous choices, almost led to my demise. Not because some proximate event happened that led to this plight, but because my inability to expand my truth at the time disabled me from seeing other possibilities. It’s oftentimes labelled as “denial” although I would associate denial with a single event (or the refusal to acknowledge an event). I thought I was choosing between (a) and (b), but with a better mindset, I would have had (a), (b), (c) and (d). I didn’t think (c) and (d) were choices for me, yet I wouldn’t have been able to explain why. There was so much uncertainty that I believed that although they were possibilities, they weren’t viable options. Now, I spend my day (too many hours of it) weighing risk against reward. I have become so adept at it, that my approach to life and relationships incorporates this mechanical analysis into decision-making that should probably be made more with my heart than my frontal cortex. Sometimes I feel that I have stripped down the emotions of life to the bare wood, removing the texture, luster and scars. Sometimes I wonder if my writer alter-ego will die forever someday. Nevertheless, I have been able to apply less emotion and more thought into daily decision making, and I now recognize what I missed out on in the earlier, less evolved chapters of my life. I contemplate where my life would have been if I had weighed my choices differently. On the other hand, my writing was born out of a sense of confusion, isolation, and pure unadulterated loneliness, and had I lived based on today’s methodology yesterday, indeed the creative side of my consciousness would have never blossomed. Yet, I still portray a rather conventional, very predictable exterior. My external life continues to need to be uncomplicated, carefree and relatively thoughtless. Ultimately, I truly believe that unless I meet someone that provokes that emotional, creative side, this part of my being will eternally remain dormant from my everyday life. With that, despite my acute awareness of (c) and (d), as long as I remain alone in my identity, I doubt I will ever choose them.