Lies

Sometimes I'm afraid that if I tell enough lies, I'll start to believe them, and lose track of who I am in the process. It would be easy to blame my environment for my actions, like somehow I was forced to adapt, and to survive I had to conform, emulate, and lie my way into social acceptance, but somehow it just doesn't feel quite right to use that excuse to completely absolve myself of all responsibility. I will say however, in certain circles here, there is such a thing as too much honesty and it tends to turn one into a pariah.

These lies range from I'll have these completed in 2 weeks - when it only takes a few days, to that dress looks amazing - when it doesn't. I imagine a secret counter working up to a magical number, unknown yet finite like the final click of a camera's shutter, the lifespan of my laptop, or the day my life (our lives) will end. Maybe then I'll start thinking that things do need a couple of weeks to complete, maybe that dress does indeed look amazing, maybe if I buy that bag I will be happy, maybe a promotion is what I want, maybe more money is what I want, maybe more friends is what I want, maybe a marriage is what I want. Maybe all these things will make me happier. Maybe I already know it won't. I haven't quite blurred the definitions between 'want' and 'need' yet, but I'm scared that one day I will. After all, successful lying comes with envisioning the lie, and then convincing reality to revise itself to fit the lie. A believable lie comes with believing it yourself; it's much easier to sell a product if you're sold on it too. 

Lately, I've taken to reconnecting with old friends, friends who I met at previous stages of my life, and listening to old songs - sometimes they freshen up faded memories. Maybe I'll remember something I've forgotten, but the problem is I don't know how much I've forgotten. Isn't it hard to know what you've forgotten if you don't remember what you've forgotten? How can I know what of my identity to preserve if I don't know the true extent of its erosion?

Things I've managed to come up with (relearn?) so far: I like listening to music. Like real music, the 95% of songs that shy away from the main stream of Top 40. I want to be an artist, always wanted to be. So I don't actually need more money or to move up the corporate ladder. I don't want a reason to work longer hours. I also don't need to be in a relationship, or get married for that matter. These should be wants. Every person in Toronto seems to feel the need to have a significant other, and those who don't have one are convinced that they need one, and spend most of their waking moments in pursuit of this holy grail with such astounding fervor. Maybe I've got it all wrong, maybe my sample size is biased, maybe I have much to learn, but it still feels right to think this way. 

I know I have more to say but my writer's winter has been long and dreary, much like the one blanketing Toronto. 

On an unrelated note, research shows that, contrary to what we think when we think of the Mark Zuckerbergs and the Nick D'Aloisios of the world, innovation is not quite 'the provenance of the young'. 

Untitled... so far.

I'm fighting sleep to say this, but I feel like I'm slowly getting back on the right track. That's all I've managed to come up with for now; creativity and fatigue are two warring factions of my body. You'll hear more soon.