Trust As Gift

I once thought (and perhaps still do) that trust was just another word for believing in the truthfulness of someone. I've come to see that this isn't how people use the word, though.

Often for people, trust only means agreeing not to worry about the truth. Not worrying, in my mind, always means not caring. To use a writer's phrase, it means suspending your disbelief. Suspending your disbelief means allowing fiction to rule. It means being open to fantasy. In practical terms, it means acting "as if" you believe something is true.

The problem here is that people tend to forget that they're acting after a while and start to believe the act instead of the reality. On a barely-related note, the same can be said for happiness. People say: If you act happy, then you'll be happy; if you smile and laugh, then you'll feel better. I say: These are just ways of forgetting about what we really feel. We forget that we aren't happy, which is probably OK (and maybe even good enough), but the mistake is that we think we've replaced what we've forgotten with real happiness. Likewise, in the case of trust, we trade our suspension of disbelief with what we come to think of as true belief. This, also, is a mistake, I think.

When we allow ourselves to do this, trust becomes a gift. We don't get anything in return for it; in fact, we shouldn't even expect to. In this context, saying "I trust you" is like saying "I'm giving you the ability to hurt me, but I hope you won't do so." Our trust may be appreciated, but it's possible (even likely) that there is no basis for it whatsoever. A person doesn't have to earn it. Even when we have reason not to trust, we still give this gift, anyway. I don't know why. Maybe we just don't want to care. We don't want to worry. Maybe we want to suspend our disbelief. Maybe we prefer our fictionalized versions of reality.

 

Sometimes It's Best To Hide Away

I was shuffling along the streets of downtown Seattle, lost in thought and, except for the cracks in the sidewalk passing beneath my feet, unaware of the rest of the world. It's possible that I was sighing heavily and frequently, but I didn't think it was any reason to take notice of me. Perhaps it was enough, however, because suddenly I was being yelled at by a stranger on the street.

"Hey buddy!" he called. "Cheer up, will you? You're depressing the hell out of me!"

Ugh. I didn't realize I was having such an effect on others.