Truth Is...

A few days ago I noticed that the basement has been renamed "The Lonesome Valley." It's a step up, in my opinion, from "The Pit of Despair"; which is what everyone called it when I did college down there. I've been looking back almost fondly at the days, weeks, months, and years I spent down there alone, plugging along with LUO. Honestly, I feel rather bad seeing all my siblings down there now, slaving away at their studies. It makes me feel like I'm shirking my duties. School is such a part of my life, it seems wrong somehow not being consumed by it.

For now, though, there are other things to be consumed by. Namely, work. All in all, it's going very well. I get along with my coworkers Ryan and Vail, and my superiors are all very friendly. In between customers (lately, the majority of any day is spent "in between") I can talk with Ryan or Vail about anything from food to music to sewing to life to traveling to politics to God. Vail tells me about Italy since she spent a semester there, and Ryan helps me understand the roots of the Italian language since he speaks some Spanish and can figure it out better than I. I can also read a book if I'm careful to make sure none of the superiors are around and there's no customer to give directions to the bathroom; or I can just sit and daydream. Or think.

I'll spare you all but two things that I've been contemplating. One, I miss being able to update my blog at least once a week and feel like a very poor writer for taking such a hiatus between posts. Especially when there is stuff to write about; I just don't have the time to record it in a manner that is at all worth my writing, and particularly you're reading. (Note-that-could-and-should-be-a-whole-post: it seriously means a lot to me when anyone takes a few minutes to stop and read my blog. I'll write even if no one ever reads, but its the biggest reward ever when someone does. Thank you :)

The second thing I've been thinking about here and there are appearances. The first time I truly experienced the truth of the cliche "don't judge a book by it's cover" was during my first job at PT. Unlike at the museum, I would actually get to know the people I was serving, and on a rather personal (sometimes too personal) basis right up front. I discovered that my perception of people was way off, most of the time.

For example, that big biker with the long hair and tattoos? The one I'd cross the street to avoid? Truth is he's actually one of the sweetest men I worked with, smiled a lot, and gave me pointers and encouragement so I'd pass my driver's test the next time.

Or the stern police chief who'd make me start crying if I got pulled over by him? Teddy bear. Softy. Yes, I'd even call him a wimp. He can't take pain. He's friendly too, and I know he's a good grandfather.

What about the pretty, athletic high school junior? The one with the "perfect life." She's lonely, that crazy optimism is a facade, and her hair does frizz.

An old woman who seemed aloof and hardened? Truth is she has beautiful memories she's just bursting to tell you of, like voyages on the Queen Elizabeth.

An old man everyone would accuse of being another lazy recipient of Welfare who looks about ready to keel over? Well, he is ready to keel over but he's in charge of the food pantry, keeps track of accounting and deliveries and storage, and attends bible study several times a week. The man never stops moving and deserves any amount of help for being so giving....

Etc.

To a certain extent, we are all like that. We all wear facades of some sort, whether intentionally or not, and many of us jump to conclusions about people based on how things appear. At the museum, the temptation to do that is very great since you interact with no one for much more than "this is how much money you owe, please don't take pictures with flash." So I'm thankful for my experience at PT because it helps me view the customers, and even my coworkers, as fellow humans, not robots.

But even if I am (ever so gradually) learning not to judge and categorize people within the first couple seconds of seeing or interacting with them, I do wonder about the facades I'm still putting up. Some of them are for my protection, some are to stay in align with etiquette, but there's a point when I do go too far.

Going too far is pointless. No one is helped when I pretend to be someone I'm not. If the common need of humanity is a longing to be understood, and being understood is accomplished through relating, then I help no one when I pretend everything is perfect. Of course, no one is helped when we pretend everything is horrible, either, and seek to relate to others as a victim. Facades come in many colors. Practically anything can be done "for the sake of appearance." However, everything we do should be for the sake of truth.

If your life isn't perfect, don't pretend it is.
If your life is perfect, don't pretend it's not.

In fact, why don't you just forget yourself altogether and focus on the souls of others so that you can be aware of the truth that is in them.