The singularity of difference

Me, circa 2001, in my beloved cherry red MGB.

Sometimes it feels a like living life is similar to a owning a cherry red 1969 MGB. Just as you get the brakes sorted out the transmission goes. I was talking to my little sister earlier today, who is sounding these days more and more like my wise older sister. We were talking about the challenge of getting past our own blinding fears so we can recognize the humanity of others.

It's so hard. I once read this cheesy corporate book (because I had to for corporate team building) about being In The Box. I'm going to paraphrase badly here, but the basic premise is the we all easily fall into dehumanizing other people so that they fit the view we want of ourselves. I hate to admit it, but that little badly written book has a point.

It's so easy to allow ourselves to try to script our universe, blinding ourself to what is actually in front of us. To blind ourself to other peoples needs, wants and realities because it doesn't fit neatly into our story. I talked a while back about wanting to accept things for what they are. Easier said than done.

I hope I'm not the only one who struggles with this. It feels like really truly relating to the real person in front of you is one of the hardest thing there is to do in this world of ours. It seems like our biggest challenge as humans. Or maybe it just does right now.