We talk too much.
This is what he said after asking me to call him. After he texted me the whole evening.
We talk too much?
Yes. It’s strange. I don’t talk to my best friends as often as I talk to you.
I managed to stutter an OK out while hoping he couldn’t hear my tears through my voice.
I’ll talk to ya in seven months then, maybe ten, who knows. Whenever. Whatever.
That’s a bit harsh, Anna. Don’t you think?
I’m merely repeating back your suggestion. It’s what you want.
You make it sound so cold.**
I don’t make it sound like anything except the truth.
**We debated this “our talking too much for an hour. Kind of defeats the point, wouldn’t you agree?
I’m so tired of the norms and the insecurities and the hiding behind fears. I’m exhausted from reaching out, opening up, and being told that I have to “not care so much.”
That’s precisely what the world needs more of, not less.
We need to care. About others. Ourselves. The future. The past. Being apathetic is not why we we’re here. There’s a difference among getting by, being cordial, and being apathetic. A time and place for each.
With relationships, I don’t want to remain indifferent. One of the most important things in our lives, most influential, how can one remain indifferent? I cannot.
I’ve attempted to live a life of being passive, going with the flow, playing dumb, and merely trying to fit in. It was one of the most miserable times of my life. I felt as though I was living one way on the outside, only to suppress my true self within. Never. Again.
And that’s what I’m trying to learn and practice and honor this year: caring. Caring so much that I live each moment, each relationship to the hilt. We weren’t put on this Earth to be robots. We are not Stepford people. I am me, and you are you, and we’re here to help each other and learn from one another. How are we supposed to do this if we’re all the same?
And that’s one of the saddest things in the world.
Do your thing.
Own it. Speak it. Live it.
And if your thing happens to be–gasp–caring about people? Care on, my friend. Care on.
Live to the point of tears.
— Albert Camus
I’ve used this disclaimer, if you will, in the past, almost exactly a year ago, in fact, but I stand by it to this day. Also, to clear up any misunderstandings about what I mean when I use the term “care” in my writing: *And let’s not confuse caring for overbearing. Hand to Heaven, I worry so much about being “clingy” that I become the exact opposite. So it’s all a bit weird.