People Are My Religion

People are my religion. Well, they are now at least. Having spent my entire adult life largely being a misanthrope, perpetually bitter at numerous perceived sleights, I am finally making an effort to get over myself.

My loudly professed distate for humanity is a by-product of my own insecurities is surely obvious to everyone but me. Perhaps it is even my Soul Toupee (or, one of them). It may have once served some purpose to insulate my fragile ego from the barbs of reality, but now it is obselete - and I would like to consign it to history, an artifact of my personality that is no more than a milestone for growth.

In the past month or so, I have come to realise how pivotal other people are in my own happiness. Maintaining healthy, vulnerable relationships with the people that I care about is going to give me a feeling of connectedness that will stave off the icy grip of depression. Striving to be able to interact openly and easily with strangers and acquaintances is going to be integral to vanquishing my anxieties.

Inspired by reading Models, by Elon Musk high as a kite, by my friend Ongun and by a great many other things, the hermetic life is not for me. As much as I would love to pretend that I am better than everyone around me, that I don't need them, today I begin to make a conscious effort to change that, to see the good in everyone, as corny as that might sound.

I'm not going to flip and become a hippy or a Buddhist monk overnight - I'm sure I will still get angry and frustrated by people, and lash out sometimes. But the important thing is that I'm going to try to make a positive difference.