It’s funny, I’ve always considered myself a collector of stories. Yes, I have my own stories, but when I’m with my friends there’s nothing I enjoy more than the opportunity to know a little more about them. Some are excellent storytellers, others not so much, but everyone has something interesting to tell.
Every time someone tells me a story, my attention is completely turned to that narrative, I want to be able to imagine, to put myself in the situation, and reflect on whether I would have a different attitude or not. And so these stories stay with me, sometimes they retell the stories, because we are with a different circle of friends and I can see if the narrative is the same, if the story has changed or if I can add one more detail to the story. that I already have cataloged in my memory.
I used to hear that some people are very full of themselves, and therefore, they spend hours talking about themselves without even realizing it. I never felt like this, at least not until I had André. I never thought I had enough good stories worth sharing, and I was afraid of losing the few friends I had if I spent too much time talking about myself, so I didn’t.
The same goes for discussing controversial issues or not. I was once more convinced of my answers and in trying to convince my friends, today It amuses me seeing different points of view and accepting more easily being wrong about anything. I didn’t use the verb amuse inappropriately, I believe that discussions like this can be beneficial even if no one changes their opinion.
Time passed and I started to feel able to share some of my stories. Creating the blog was always a desire, but the fear of exposure was constant. What people I know will say when they read my texts. What if they don’t like it? What if they believe everything I write? Will I be judged by my words? What if I’m not creative enough?
I started this text about two months ago, my point was to show that no matter how stupid people are, those who risk exposing their opinion, or part of their history, deserve, at least, the credit for submitting to all criticisms that come their way.
But I doubted that it would be a text worth publishing, that it would be one more along with so many others in the limbo of my Google drive, where they would never be published nor deleted. They would be there, as a permanent reminder that I need to do better.
In those two months, the idea of the importance of valuing the courage of those who speak continued to trouble me. Public people being judged for something they said or did a long time ago when society was different and certain things acceptable. The lack of interpretation or arbitrary interpretation with the sole and exclusive objective of causing controversy and receiving more clicks. The cancellation is done by people sitting in the comfort of their homes, probably in their pajamas and without the slightest concern about the consequences to their target.
I decided that it was important to bring this text from limbo. I realized that the more I care about the other, the less I think about myself. If I am to love my neighbor as myself, I need to start with MYSELF and allow myself to express what I think, as I would like my neighbor to do.