Importance. Evidence that we matter, that our presence is somehow integral to reality. Could that state of being not also be entered by the fact that we have merely survived the day? Simply prevailing as a living being over circumstances met and conquered?
Birthdays . . . we love to commemorate that day on which one has entered the world. Each year, celebrations occur on this day . . . usually in families the day of birth is shared by no one else within the unit. So, speciality. Anniversaries . . . those dates and times remembered as ordained and blessed connection with a loved one.
Those time-lines of continuity in our own minds serve to connect humans not simply to each other, as in families or relationships, but to all inhabitants of our world . . . even to our notions of extra-terrestrials who likely want us for all sorts of mysterious reasons.
Consignment to one or the other category – one being that place of good feelings, confidence, satisfaction, safety, security, or perhaps another space to which some of us belong – the ability, much less the willingness, to make others feel all these warm fuzzies.
And sometimes there seems to be no choice in the matter. Empathy and compassion have little to do with it. It is high monitoring, all right . . . a sentence, a destiny.
Different cultures and ways of interacting must always fascinate and intrigue us. That search for something, anything which might disintegrate all our brightly lacquered shells of illusion.
Running barefoot through wild forests and savannas. For miles, impervious to intense heat, insects, danger. Paddling silently through still bayous, a thin, narrow canoe between 20 foot alligators and oblivion. Surviving, yes . . . living to a full extent also.
Validation surely must not bestow complacency. Vesting in ourselves has to be more than feelings of security.
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