So, I had a conversation the other day with someone wherein this person informed me that, in the end, everyone really is out for themselves.
To put it in context, I was saying how a mutual acquaintance of ours gave me the heebies because, as I put it, I thought that when the fit hit the shan this person would gladly slit the throat of their closest friend if they had to in order to protect themselves.
“Yeah, but I think everyone would,” said my friend.
I gave this due consideration and I then came to the following conclusion:
There is reason in my friend’s comment to be very, very, seriously sad about the state of the world. Not because I buy this philosophy — I think the killer instinct should be reserved for when there is an actual life/death situation at hand, i.e. someone attempts to mug you and pulls a knife. Then, it’s on. But everyday life just does not require murdering — either the physical or metaphysical — make-up of a fellow human being. There’s just nothing satisfying enough to sell your soul to that kind of darkness for the pleasure of procuring (that sentence may need some grammatical restructuring to make any sense. But I’m quickly doing this from work — a fact my former stalker I’m sure is kvetching over…).
There’s a special place in hell reserved for people who destroy people’s faith in the world for a little more money or a slight ego boost. This is a particular kind of counter-productive evil that is careless and increasingly rampant, making it that much more reasonable. Hey, I mean, that’s just the way the world works right. “Brush ’em off Claire” (this is from the movie Scrooged. Rent it to see what I mean.).
So, what’s sad about the comment is that this is simply what the majority of the world believes. And those of us who don’t — well, we’re seen as naive, a little simple, and definitely easy victims. *sigh*
On a better note, this is my first (and perhaps best) best friend (in the yellow — my baby bro is the one in gray).
I came from a neighborhood that functioned more like a 1930s Brooklyn burrough — we hung together, looked out for each other and have stayed together over the years. We had a neighborhood reunion at my parent’s house over the holiday and I snapped this photo. This is the man who, as a boy, taught me that making up dives off the diving board was way better than learning the traditional ones; that losing at staring contests can be hilarious; that using the whole neighborhood to play kick the can is much better than using one or two backyards; that Kangol hats are cool; that naming a cat simply requires saying the first thing that comes to mind (he named his Cucumber); and that continuing to know someone who really KNOWS you is a rare joy.
He’s not too far away so we’re planning on getting together again soon. I’m a lucky girl.