Truth: most of the world, probably very few people at all, are actually concerned with my woes nor should they indeed be expected to be, beyond a voyeuristic glimpse or academic excursion. The world doesn't care about my individual, inner turmoil. Honestly, very few people give a hoot. People care what I am doing with my life and how I impact those around me. Our actions, what we choose, is what matters in the end. Why we did it or against what odds are interesting and can be inspiring or disillusioning, but the difference we've made, the influence we've left, the love we have increased, the kindness we have shown, regardless of why, are what most matter to others in "real life".
Maybe that flies in the face of the idea that I must remember to try to see past the concrete things and what is in front of my material eyes into the part of the person which chose, the naked soul, and understand that their upbringing and physiological makeup and mine may be starkly different, therefore our actions cannot be directly compared. But I don't think it's entirely in conflict. That perspective is beautiful and is the one I must keep in mind when "judging" others. But when looking inward, maybe it's helpful to remember that, in the end, however hard my decisions have been, those around me don't see my inner world, they don't see through my mind's eye, and my perceptions are most likely just as skewed as the next guy's, so how I treat people around me and change the world is all I can offer everyone except the handful of people who get close enough to see more.
Some people, who are actually my friends, care about me because they hope for my happiness. They feel for and with me because they are invested and love me. But even then, at some point, constantly making my sorrow and motivations and turmoils known to others becomes somewhat moot, meaningless, and robotic if I never do anything about it or if I never come out of it. And if I go through my whole life voicing, to the world, my turmoil and angst and dilemmas, in an attempt to "explain" my stagnation and emotional apathy, all I have done is proven that it conquered me. I lost out on happiness. I had what many would regard as very good reasons for losing, and they are known, and few people would probably "blame" me, but I lost nonetheless, and nobody was inspired or made more hopeful that a human being is more than his or her circumstances and struggles.
Maybe there are times to stop explaining and just act. In the end, I can express my conundra all I want, but what I choose to do with what life has dealt me is what really matters. Forget circumstance, forget emotional fragility, forget confusion about what is true, I am ultimately left with the freedom to choose my path and make of my life something self-serving or self-giving, pleasure-seeking or person-building, comfort-motivated or truth-motivated.
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