Favorite Things (Archive)
Jun 30, 2016 by R.C. Nechamkin
I like listing out my favorite things. I have my favorite movies, favorite albums, favorite books, favorite album artworks, favorite cinematographers, and which of my favorite directors utilized them the best all written down somewhere in my notes on my phone. While I love loving my favorite things, and I love what loving my favorite things say about who I am as a person, I cannot stand the idea of my personality only being an accumulation of my favorites things. An identity must develop independently from the superheroes I like or the type of music that makes me want to dance the most. If we can connect with each other because we both like Star Wars, congrats, you and I are just like billions of other people on the planet. If we can connect with each other because we both have felt heartbreak, we both have these intoxicating aspirations but these sobering fears, and we both wished we both believed in the same romantic ideologies, you and I become remarkably more human to each other. The moment we start talking about the deeply intimate emotions that disturb our hearts, we are no longer our political opinions, how we feel about Kanye West, or who we think we ought to be; we are two souls trying to grasp onto the comfort found in being understood.
It devastates me when I meet people who present themselves as these lazy caricatures of an already known personality type, deliberately labeling themselves so nobody else ever will first. Sincerity is the number one thing I look for in a person’s character, and if I can detect this layer of fear-parented artificialness, my first instinct to sympathize and pity. Something I passionately believe in is that when it comes to anything in life, what you put into it is what you take out of it. If I choose to never put 100% of myself out there emotionally, I will inevitably always limit how intimate of a relationship I can have with the ones I love. I can invite people into my house, but if I don’t ever let them past the foyer, how could I ever expect them to feel at home?
It devastates me when I meet people who present themselves as these lazy caricatures of an already known personality type, deliberately labeling themselves so nobody else ever will first. Sincerity is the number one thing I look for in a person’s character, and if I can detect this layer of fear-parented artificialness, my first instinct to sympathize and pity. Something I passionately believe in is that when it comes to anything in life, what you put into it is what you take out of it. If I choose to never put 100% of myself out there emotionally, I will inevitably always limit how intimate of a relationship I can have with the ones I love. I can invite people into my house, but if I don’t ever let them past the foyer, how could I ever expect them to feel at home?
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