Inverse Naïvity

Inverse Naïvity

This world –its mere existence– is a miracle. And by extension, so is everything existing in it. This fact is so blunt and obvious, that it undeniability transcends all human interpretations and approaches. Religion and science cannot help but agree on this one: The miracle of existence can be taken in a literal sense –in God creating the Universe and all its creatures as an act of literal wonder. On the other hand, there's the astounding unlikelihood of just the right combination of subatomic particles and atoms ever coming together, integrating, interacting, changing over billions of years to find a way through the universe. The perfect conditions, beating all odds, that would slowly but surely create the right chemical bridges, complex molecules, genetic structures, cells, and compound organisms eventually leading to human life, intelligence and self-awareness. Nothing less than miraculous in this scientific sense either.
Finally –out of billions of potential combinations off all gametes that ever came to be through this miraculous process, of all those that ever existed inside your parents' bodies, it was the one that constitutes you that actually made it into this unlikely world. And that, in itself, is a miracle within a miracle as well.

And now here you are: a living human. Blessed with an amazing set of senses to take it all in and help you make sense of and navigate the world. But as complex and wondrous as we are, we are just as cognitively biased and subjective.

What we perceive through our filtering senses is just a consequently simplified interpretation of a higher reality that we have evolved to justifiably assume as evident, not actual reality itself. And so, even though every aspect of reality exists within an infinite spectrum of possible manifestations, it is through the simplifying tendencies of our minds that we tend to classify everything into more compact categories for the sake of practicability and sanity. We turn greys into blacks and whites. In this sense, things always exist in contrast to one another –including all emotional and abstract aspects of human experience. Coldness exists because of warmth. Betrayal only exists because of trust. Conflict exists because of peace. Evil exists because there is Good. And darkness exists because there's light.
And all these are taking place everywhere in the human world every day, every second. All these things –at least in the figurative sense when applicable– are consequences and manifestations of human choice. Do we act. Do we not. Do we move, do we stand still. How do we act when we do so. Where do we go when we move. What's the pace. Do we accept, do we reject. Do we talk. What do we say. How do we say it. What do we believe, what do we deny. What do we assume, what do we inquire. This all implies a certain degree of freedom. Internal, individual freedom, to construct our own humanly simplified version of the world through our senses and voluntary behaviors.

Now, all choices affect their makers, but also many others around them. Within the arbitrariness in which we are subdued to others' freedom and hence the way their choices directly or indirectly impact us, you could be tempted to believe there is not much you can do to define your own existence and determine your own faith.

Yes, there are many things that will shape our existence on Earth that we have no control over whatsoever. But the one thing we can control that will undoubtedly have a greater impact on our experience, is humbling acknowledging the way we choose to interpret what uncontrollably happens to us and to create our own beliefs is up to us – and that, within out individual frame, we have the capacity to deliberately seek situations, places, experiences and people that will confirm, reaffirm and protect those interpretations. That's the advantage of being biologically subjective to a fault. And how incredibly freeing in that is!

We will never be objective because we just biologically can't. As I said before, our senses and brains just weren't made for that. We will always look at the world through lenses. Lenses filter and distort reality. To a higher or lesser degree, in individual proportions as varied as the number of human souls wandering the Earth, everyone experiences some of the bad and some of the good throughout their lives. But freedom allows everyone to decide which to embrace, which to get familiar with, which to project and expect and exercise. Especially to those living in dignified societies, whose basic needs are covered and secure enough to actually allow for the privilege of vital room to voluntarily invest and reflect on these matters.

Given our completely subjective and delusional human experience, why not base our beliefs on the one thing that is a fact in every sense: that the world is a miracle after all?

According to the Cambridge Dictionary, cynicism is the belief that people are only interested in themselves and are not sincere.
Now, the world is not fair. Tragedy and loss are imminent and omnipresent. But, if all bad things only exist because of an equal, if not greater measure of good… With all our given freedom to shape our world, why choose a perspective more inclined to assume the former is the baseline state of everything? That's easy, it's comfortable, it's safe. No disappointment, no hurt, no crushed hopes. Sure. But also, no thrill, no dreams, no connection, no higher reward.

Through my lens, life's blows, hardships and downs are not punishment for gravitating towards or believing in the good, or evidence of falsehood, but an upgrading mechanism, an opportinity to fine-tune my radar for goodness.

In contrast, through the lens of cynicism, vulnerability can easily be mistaken for weakness. For a cynic who subconsciously or voluntarily chooses to believe in the bad as the preset baseline to be assumed, anything good and beautiful that conflicts with this view is nothing but an error in the matrix, a deviation, a deceit to be uncovered, a trick with small print hidden away in the imperfect edges of whatever evidence of light they happen to come across.

According to the Cambridge Dictionary, naïve is a person too willing to believe that someone is telling the truth, that people's intentions in general are good, or that life is simple and fair.

Now, if we leave the “too” out of the definition, this is what a happy person looks like.

Pain hurts the same for everyone –maybe even more so for someone without a wall to protect a heart that is avid for meaning and connection. But a broken, candid heart is nothing but an upgrading, self-improving system sharpening its selective skills to relentlessly strive for better. No matter what, forever.

Cynicism, on the other hand, leaves no room for that.

Cynicism reassures itself feeding off hardships.
Cynicism is narrow-minded and judgmental.
Cynicism is arrogant and condescending.
Cynicism is safe. It's weak.
Cynicism is also a choice.

Cynicism is the opposite of what it considers itself to be.

It's not enlightened.
It's blind.

Cynicism is nothing but inverse naïvity.

28

My 27th year of life.

Thinking back on how I thought it would unfold, it has had little to nothing to do with the way it actually turned out. There were lots of flight tickets involved, many rooms and trips booked, quite a few international weddings to attends, my family visiting as a whole for the first time in years. What seemed like the perfect year for outward exploration turned more into a chance to take a gradual journey inwards –I had many adventures planned, but I ended up embarking on many others I wasn't expecting.

Restriction of external freedoms and reduction of social opportunities enabled for a change to dig deeper into the own capacity for generating excitement, especially about the mundane, as a long moment of calmness and introspection spread out over months, only quietly disrupted by scheduled duties and routine. I have discovered a hobby that –based on the amount of brain space it has conquered– qualifies as a new passion. Exploring some new friendships that I have had the time and space to grant an opportunity, have developed in the most organic way possible, with increasing understanding and slowly unfolding appreciation and bonding. Additionally, I seem to have one the lottery with someone who is so wonderful in so many ways that I'd undoubtedly need a whole separate novel-length blog entry to accurately describe him. Transitioning from having practically zero idea to developing an acceptable basic level of understanding about this whole other exciting and promising medical field that I had never really seriously considered during my time as a student, I have felt satisfaction, which, in retrospective, signifies validation for taking this unexpected turn in my life. At this point, there is nothing I feel like I am not brave enough to be willing to try, any big change that I wouldn't be willing to face, if I felt like it was worth it. Last night at the bowling alley my system was overflooded with joy and gratitude and pride. I have a whole bunch of wonderful human beings in my life, they are all different and unique in their own ways, so they touch my heart in truly diverse manners. Still, they all share a whole lot of qualities that not only earn my affection, but my respect and my admiration as well, which makes me want to keep them close: hard-working, transparent, honorable, good-hearted.

I look back to October 2010. I arrived in Germany alone. I had no idea how my life –how I would turn out. But I remember being excited about it. Through a long process of maturation, self-discovery, mixed social experiences, good and bad choices and consecutive consequences, feedback, trial and error… I interpret my life to this day as the result of what I've ended up deliberately or inadvertently building, and I like it.

Happiness is the ability to appreciate the present. But some presents are louder than others, e.g. important occasions, which through their significance and transience grab your awareness and attention begging you to look at them through the lens of transcendence and enlightened consciousness. This has been one of them. I do not know what my 28th year of life has in store for me, but if it's anything like this last, I know I will have no regrets.

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Popcorn

It was February. Days were still cold and dark. I was not enjoying work. I did not feel fulfilled, I did not feel like what I was spending so much time in doing mattered or was appreciated, or that I was living up to my potential. My heart was still bruised, struggling between moving on and longing for a past I'd only but with much effort and self-imposed resolution managed to finally put behind me. Loneliness was in check, but nonetheless constantly lurking behind the corners of my mind. The day I defended my doctoral thesis came with a furry ray of sunshine. Already the presence of both my parents and my best friend and their reassuring smiles and gestures constituted yet another reminder of my fortune. And then, as a congratulatory gift, came Popcorn.

She did not have to do much to win me over. She was beautiful, soft, delicate, and very much alive. Shy at first, she broke my heart running away from me, shrieking and shaking, to hide behind the trash can the first time I tried to end an out-cage excursion. She was terrified. I remember feeling helpless at what seemed to me an unconquerable barrier ―her and I both living in opposite worlds of cognition and size―, keeping me from making her understand how harm was the last of my intentions. Despite the initial terror, time and trust allowed her to become a bundle of the purest confident gentleness and innocence, not once biting in fear or aggression. Stared at with the appropriate sharpness, her at first glance homogenously black eyes rewarded me with the endearing delineation between pupil and iris. Nibbling passionately at her food, always held firmly between her front paws in an almost anthropomorphic fashion, she never failed to charm my friends as well. I often found myself smiling broadly or even laughing out loud in the quietude of my small apartment at the sight of her unraveling, never-satisfied bold curiosity. I learned to appreciate the sound of her little feet frantically tapping on the wooden floor, as she was on a perpetual, determined mission whose aim only she knew. Reckless, relentless. There was not a piece of furniture high enough to scare her from performing her back-to-wall climbing technique. She conquered everything, from the windowsill, to the top of the wardrobe, to my heart. She left no uncharted territory.

My life has changed in the last year and a half ―subtly externally, but quite significatively on the inside. I am happy at work, I have found joy in new behaviors and habits, new hobbies, wonderful new friends. The ache my heart was enduring is now but a memory. Days have been cold and dark. But at some point along the road, they have gradually started becoming warmer and brighter. At the end of each of them, she was the one beating heart waiting for me at home, and the responsibility of taking care of her ―keeping her alive and healthy― was invariably present. Through the course of one and a half years, every change I have been through, all bridges crossed to get here, Popcorn has been my sweet little companion.

My eyes have intermittently been swelling up with tears today. I cannot talk about her without my voice breaking. I know already I will miss her ―her nightly frenzy featuring the tapping, scratching, squeaking and gnawing noises that drove me crazy at first, but ended up becoming the most familiar soundtrack to my evenings and to the journey into my dreams every night. It is amazing how much you can love something so tiny. Illustratively speaking, even my heart is bigger than her. But maybe that is why she fits there so perfectly.

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