bare boned and crazy

(image from mirjan.'s flickr photostream via weheartit)

Honesty. Something that is desired, and something that is feared. We are always told to speak the truth, but do we really want to hear what other people think of us? The pure, unadulterated truth? Honesty is scary. It creates vulnerability.

Honesty is unapologetic, upfront, and real. I think that a lot of the reason why some people can't handle New York City is because they are put off by how in-your-face this place is. They can't handle the truth that is loud noises, bad smells, poor people-filthy rich people-crazy people. This city is a truly global city. A little bit of everything. A little bit of everyone. I think that many people have become desensitized, and sheltered. It's like the theme song from Weeds: "Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky; little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same." Where's the real world in that?

People have become desensitized and sheltered not only in terms of their environment, but also, I think, in terms of how we interact with each other. Very few people are always honest. We tread lightly, afraid of offending, of being politically incorrect. Many people can't handle the truth, the bare bones of it all, and put up their "little boxes" in the form of anti-depressants and the like. Perhaps I am trivializing it, but I think there is some truth in the matter. Pun intended.

It's sad that honesty has become so fleeting, and elusive, because I think that honesty can also be very beautiful. When the stars are aligned (I like to imagine those fiery balls of light playing that game where the puzzle pieces are all jumbled up and you have to slide them one by one into the correct place), being honest with someone, expressing your innermost feelings, can be...well...I wouldn't really know. I imagine it's beautiful. I don't have the guts to make myself vulnerable like that. I, too, am afraid of being honest.

Maybe it's time for me to venture out of my little box made out of ticky tacky. I'll go get the mail. Sweep the sidewalk. Plant some flowers. Baby steps. And then...

Touch your lips just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
Into me, baby
-Dave Matthews Band