Life may be a masquerade ball for some, but costumes are sewn for special occasions, not for daily use. Experiencing the prosaic as sublime is a central aspect of personal happiness because it allows us to find greater meaning in our daily lives. This is the reason I would like to write more about my social interactions, past, present and future. Only one obstacle stands in my way.
The limits of what I am willing to disclose in writing are dictated by the privacy of others, if not always my own. We breathe oxygen because no human being exists in a vacuum. The people and places in our lives define us just as much as we define them. Sharing our experience in this world without reference to those we care the most is a thankless task.
But there is a limit to what silence can censor. If nothing else, the impact that loved ones have in our lives is always reflected in who we are. In writing about ourselves, we are essentially writing about those who had a formative impact on our lives, so long as our words are true.
In this sense, writing is no different from people. The first quality to look for is sincerity. This is the sine qua non condition for all that follows because the foundation of any true relationship is trust. In its absence, life becomes a fiction of the worst kind, one completely devoid of meaning. Though lies seem to have a higher rate of return than the truth, every farce is eventually revealed for what it is, a terrible investment, as the current political climate so depressingly attests.
To command words that are true one must feel, experience and understand. One must live. This is what I intend to in the future. To write more about my life, while being mindful of the privacy of others, as well as my own. The dictionary cannot define any word that has real meaning, only life can. Mine has and still does.