I have always found it interesting how one situation can appear so radically different based solely on how it is described, or more accurately, perceived. Everybody sees the world in different ways, and every time we recount an event, it is colored by how we see things.
Some people see the world simply, for how it is. They don’t paint it with a sheen of poetry. Sadness is not the screaming of an anguished soul at nightfall; it’s just sadness, just an unhappy emotion. Happiness is not a euphoric splash of sunset hues against the canvas of an expectant heart; it’s just happiness. Things are what they are. As much as I enjoy having my own perspective, I admire these more practical people. In some ways, their eyes see more clearly, and their perspectives are more pure.
I might even venture to say that poetic brains are grossly overrated. They’re great for writing, but not so much for emotional health. Automatically seeing things through maudlin, song-tinted spectacles makes for a very volatile existence. One bit of melodrama leads to another, until the truth is completely distorted by subjective perception. It’s only a few steps away from full delusion.
When my lenses of life have become lacquered by fiction, I need to clean them with simplicity. When I say that my whole being has become consumed with frozen despair, sometimes I need to hear, “You’re only sad.”