How (to Try) to Be The Perfect Human (or How to Appear Completely)

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

The solution with the fewest assumptions and contingencies is usually the correct one. Occam's Razor.

My life...not so much. Dense fog and cliffs. Desert mirage's like scenes out of "You've Got Mail". Endings that come at me like beginnings. Beginnings that appear as endings.

The fruits of navigating the labyrinth of interpersonal relationships while trying to maintain a modicum of emotional and intellectual honesty. Not to mention, self-respect.

But that's asking too much. That is putting honesty on a pedestal it can't possibly reach. I don't know why, exactly. And that is the soul crushing part about it.

And there I go. Off into the forest where I will no doubt wallow and weep. I'm there right now, even as I claim not to be. Try as I might, I can't lie to myself. I was just about to try and claim detachment - or, worse, actual contentment - but I am incapable of lying to myself. I am aware of every single decision I make and every decision I abdicate.

Is this level of self-awareness and regulation healthy? It sure is burdensome. But that's alright. I can accept that there is some pain on the path to Eudaimonia. How could there not be? Right. Of course.

I got nothing. I'm writing to try and figure out a way to cope. And it's not coming. But that's ok. I guess it has to be. Maybe acceptance is better wrought through inactivity or not actually consciously thinking and accepting. That sounds a lot like some psychobabble bullshit to me. The bullshit detector is going fucking crazy. But then again, it's been doing that a lot lately. Could be broken. That'd be a bitch, wouldn't it? I probably wouldn't even know it was misfiring. The shapes on the wall would appear as they always do. Real.

Fuck it, though. It's the best chance I have. At what I don't know. But I have to believe myself that it's there. If it's not, then what's the point? If Jane isn't who and what I know her to be, is it suicide from there? Nah. A little too melodramatic and final for my tastes.

The joy of the state I have reached is this: I can't doubt Jane. Not because my future well-being is so distinctly tied to her decisions. No. And not because I simply wave away mounds of evidence to the contrary. There is no ignorance on my part whatsoever.

I know her, man. I don't need to plant memories at the scene of the crime to conjure up happy thoughts. I've experienced her for the last year of my life. I hung on, accepting the Platonic Love that was never more readily available. But it's too important to not stay the way it's been. It's like the puppy who has out grown its cage. We need more space to stretch out our bodies and minds and play.

The most effective coping/understanding/living comes through when I go back to basics: What do I know? Why do I know it? Am I making any assumptions? Am I dismissing anything as negligible? Is it? Am I doing my utmost to understand the world and the people around me? Am I living in tune with all of this music in my head? Am I living with authenticity and purpose?

These are not all "knowable" in the same way I can demonstrate the effect of gravity. Solace is mine despite this. I trust myself. I trust the people I care about. Or else what's the point?