an effort to be real

Never have I felt that what I am inside is to be who I am, what I am, where I am, when I am, how I am outside. In this being. Or form. I've felt extremely uncomfortable as a human in my skin. When I read (or act), I feel as nothing and everything, no one and everyone, and this is comforting.

But recently, I've been attempting to be a real person, which forces me to connect with others and see things as though I am a part of it. Understand as a human does. Interact as a human does. Empathize as a human does.

And I've read a desperate need for attachment in most every human I encounter. 

Perhaps this is the world in which we live now, and I can't say with confidence I'm above the need, but it seems as though no one is happy enough with themselves to not seek constant approval from those around them. As though the secret to being happy is creating a relationship with other people and trying to prove yourself to them. Or, in creating that friendship, one has proven themselves as worthy. 

I don't believe I have that worry. I do want others to think well of me, but that is simply because I don't want them speaking ill of me. I don't really care whether or not they are impressed with me. 

And yet, to approve of a person, to laugh at their joke or nod enthusiastically with their opinion, brightens their whole face. Makes them feel supported, wanted, intelligent.

If humans could learn to bottle that feeling and give it to themselves, the need for connection with other physical beings becomes optional, and people would choose to get to know other people for the sake of getting to know another person.

And we would learn so much, being open to the world and every inhabitant.