I used to think I was a broad-minded person but looking back, I realize that my “open-mindedness” was often just a defense mechanism, a form of self-isolation rooted in nihilism. This indifference made me feel safe. It even gave me a fake sense of intellectual superiority, as if I had everything figured out, as if I were somehow above it all.
The truth? Most of the time, I just don't care. I don’t care what people think of me, or if they misunderstand me, which is why I can take a joke so easily. I don’t care if a social interaction is genuine, so I’m always the one picking up the check, always the one willing to take a "small loss." But it’s not because I’m generous. It’s because I don’t care enough to invest the emotional energy to worry about it. And the list goes on and on.
I know I’ve been living in a haze, floating in my own little cloud. My material desires are practically non-existent. Luxury goods, jewelry, they hold zero appeal for me. I’ve lost so many pieces of jewelry over the years. Not because I’m rich, but because I simply couldn't bring myself to care. I literally didn’t see them. If it weren't for the fact that I’m at an age where I can’t look too shabby, I’d be perfectly happy carrying a canvas bag everywhere.
I have this 20-dollar cardholder I bought at Disney years ago. I love it. I’ve been using it for five years. One day I was having dinner with a friend, and I saw that look in their eyes, a mix of surprise and judgment… At that moment, I couldn't even describe the feeling. I just felt… sad for myself. I know there’s a real cost to being this indifferent to the symbols the world runs on. And as I get older, I’m realizing I just don't have the "muscle" to overcome that resistance.
That’s my tragedy: How am I supposed to survive in this world, let alone raise a child? What could I possibly offer them? I feel so incredibly small. I can’t even participate in conversations about bags or diamonds without feeling like I’m speaking a language I never learned. I don’t look down on them, but I don’t crave them either. To me, these "material symbols" are just… noise. I am completely, utterly numb to them.
Sometimes I feel like such a fraud, pretending I’m practicing some kind of minimalist philosophy, acting all enlightened. But the reality? I’m just sitting on a pile of junk. Sometimes I think I’m just a collector of trash. Maybe this isn't broad-mindedness. Maybe it’s just the cowardice of an idealist who refuses to enter the world, who refuses to build any "real-world muscle."
But DL? He is different. What unsettles me about DL is that he makes my usual excuse harder to maintain. He is far more brilliant than I am. He thinks deeper, sees further, and his world is so much wider than mine. Even though his foundation is a bit pessimistic, I always catch a glimpse of something moving, a vastness and a compassion hidden within that darkness. That to me is the rarest gift. It’s the strongest part of his soul. He has the real-world grit that I lack, and the power to navigate through the void. I really wish he could live a vibrant life even against that pessimistic backdrop, and experience all those small, warm, fleeting moments of happiness that are his alone.
Maybe growing up isn't about becoming less idealistic. Maybe it's about developing enough real-world muscle that I no longer need detachment to protect my idealism.