Getting Closer

No one else can truly know what it’s like to be you. To think the things you think. To feel the emotions you feel (the way that you feel them). The things that get under your skin. The worries that play on repeat. Your hopes, dreams, and convictions about how the world works.

Our distant human predecessors had emotions and thoughts before they had language to describe them. The structure of our brains reflects that developmental history. There’s a whole complex of feelings and thoughts we have inside ourselves before we can put words to it. It can be extremely difficult to formulate them into something sayable or writeable.

But it can also be extremely fulfilling. Words give tangibility and translatability to our internal lives. In conversation or typed on a page, there’s a shared point of reference.

Other media do this, too—songs, sculptures, architecture, and more. They each in their own way provide something that other people can reflect on and respond to. This is how we build connections and relationships with other people. And how we make sense of the world together. One person says things, write things, plays things, and makes things. Others listen, feel, examine, or respond.

We’re all on this peculiar blue rock in the universe—trying to process what’s going on and what our part is in all of it. We’re all trying to figure it out. It’s exciting and terrifying and full of potential.

I love what prolific film composer Hans Zimmer said in a recent interview about “getting closer.”

I’m writing one long score. It’s called my life. How many deaths have I written? How many kisses have I written? Each one, I try to do it differently. I try to get closer to the reality. I try to get better at it. “Better” is the wrong word. I’m trying to find out what’s hidden from me and what’s hidden from the audience. I’m trying to peel back the layers and actually get to the essence of what it all is.

Peel back the layers and actually get to the essence of what it all is.

Whether it’s words, or music, or something else, we’re all trying to get a little closer to reality through the course of our lives. What we know about ourselves, and what we know about the world.

I look back on some of the things I’ve written or said, and they make me cringe. I butchered sentences. I lacked perspective. Because people change. The way we articulate ourselves changes. Our sense of what’s right and good and beautiful changes. That’s part of being human, too.

Those changes and the drive to get closer are crucial to living well together. We’re dependent on others to fully see and understand. We need other people to show us our blind spots, where we haven’t taken things far enough, and where we’re way off track.

The path of getting closer is an imperfect, in-progress one, because we’re imperfect, in-progress creatures. Our vantage points are limited—conditioned by what makes each of us us. No one person is going to get things exactly right. Our efforts to communicate what we know about ourselves and the world don’t always come out the way we wanted. That’s what makes getting closer that much more rewarding. Over time, you can get closer. You end up in a different place than where you started. And there is always room to go deeper and wider.

It’s much more interesting to live life trying to discover what’s hidden from you. To get to the essence of what all this is. Throughout each day, in everything you say and make, and with every opportunity you have to hear perspectives outside your own purview. Each of us has things to share that will bring us closer to the world as it is—and closer to one another.

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