Is everyone and their momma still posting about the Super Bowl? Is that why my Internet is so slow?
Congratulations, Philadelphia Eagles. I did not watch the game. I did laundry and washed my hair. But I read online that it was riveting and I do love it when an underdog wins.
I washed my hair and clothes for a little too long and had a late dinner. So, here’s a cheat day writing from almost 10 years ago. I wrote this little thought piece back on July 7, 2008.
Until tomorrow, my friends….
Lately, I’ve been fighting with feelings of cynicism. Some people fight with obesity, depression, self-hatred, hatred for others. For myself, my internal fight, at least at this stage in my life, is definitely with cynicism.
I can remember back to when I first became familiar with the idea of cynicism, even before I knew that it had a name. I was perhaps in sixth or seventh grade, and we were learning about the life of Anne Frank. I remember being immediately infatuated with her life, her letters, and her struggle. But the thing that fascinated me most was her seemingly unwavering belief in the goodness of human beings.
Thinking about Anne Frank and my first associations with her life makes me feel hopeful, yet ashamed. I feel hopeful because if Anne Frank could maintain her positive outlook on human beings, then I know it is entirely possible. I feel hugely ashamed because my own life hasn’t been nearly as eventful, trying, or terrifying as Anne Frank’s, yet I still find myself battling daily to maintain my love for people.
In all honesty, I’ve never been much of a “people person.” I have never used that term to describe myself. I’ve never been that bubbly, personable person with whom others fall in love quickly. I’ve never been a great salesperson, or even terribly interested in the mundane, everyday activities of other people. I’ve always found it weird and uncomfortable if anyone ever showed any interest in my everyday activities. Not to say that I am heartless; I strive to be very kind. Contrarily, I have found that general “niceness” is overrated for the most part, unless it’s used to talk one’s way out of a speeding ticket.
Kindness, on the other hand, has always been hugely underrated to me. It seems that as humans, we put greater value on how we are perceived (as nice or not) rather than what we really are (kind or totally unconcerned about the welfare of others). I, rather it happened purposefully or not, have always been more concerned with trying to actually be kind. I learned at a very young age that I am unable to pretend to be nice, but I’ve never found it hard to be kind, even to assholes who are totally undeserving.