I’ve been
thinking a lot lately about types of people. I’m not referring to a certain way
of dress or a certain social grouping; I’m talking about those aspects of each
of us that make us who we are, that give us a ‘type’. We’ve come up with an
array of classifications to help us understand one another. We put each other
in small, predictable boxes to try and make sense of interactions, of
relationships. Our perceptions of others are based on our own perceptions of
the world. Our lens is always egocentric. We can hardly be expected to make
sense of ourselves, let alone the people around us.
I think
that’s what all relationships are. We find people who share some aspect of
ourselves because it gives us something to grasp, some clearer object to hold
onto. We cling to that mutualness for as long as it continues to tie us
together and isn’t broken by one of those stronger forces of change that make
the connection look too fuzzy. Some frayed ropes can be knotted and re-knotted
and I think that that is what love is; we continue to be tethered to those few people who make the most sense, or whose foggy spots we are most willing to ignore.
We warn
against those people who seem to change with the crowd, but perhaps those people
are the ones least to be pitied. Or the least to be lonely. Those of us who
fulfill our roles in every situation are the ones who have the most chance of
loss. Our lack of variation means that our connections are fewer, our isolation
potentially more widespread. Perhaps those of us who live within the confines
of our own heads have the greater capacity to love, but the less possibility of
such demonstrations.
Perhaps
this is all just my attempt at retying a knot. Of fulfilling my role. Or of
foolishly attempting to change it.
