Does talking about other people give us insight into who we, ourselves, are?
Gossip, celebrity culture, fame, royalty, etc., these things are all about other people. They seem to be ubiquitous. We seem to organically organise ourselves into social hierarchies and can’t help but commentate, speculate, and narrate on the lives of other people.
What makes them so much more interesting? What are they doing differently? Why do I celebrate their successes above mine? Why do I worry about their wrongdoings?
Am I trying to talk about me when talking about them because talking about me without talking about them would be vaingloriousness?
I bitch and complain about people in my life. I certainly hope they are doing the same about me. I do it on the grounds that understanding their behaviour and actions will help inform mine, giving me something to consider now or in the future. Their entire truth is not known to me, however. Whatever story I tell to explain their behaviour comes from whatever information I have.
“Why did he say that?” “What did she mean by that?” “They just walked right by me, didn’t even say, ‘Hello’” And, let’s not forget, “Who the fuck do they think they are?”
I don’t know what people are thinking, what has happened in their lives, or what they want to do next. I don’t even know how most people feel about me. To think that they’re slighting me is conceited. Who am I to them? Even still, I have to justify their actions somehow. I have to settle myself with an explanation.
This doesn’t seem to happen so much with compliments, however. I have a hard time accepting those.
The explanations, I think, help me better root the narrative I am writing about myself, establishing, for myself, how I want to be seen based on how I perceive being seen. I can’t see who I am out in the world so I have to look for the reflections.
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