peace

How is it that we can be both our most and least comfortable while entirely alone? There is peace in isolation, but also vulnerability.

We need it. It’s essential. Without isolation, reflection is impossible. Because time spent with others is time spent wearing an assortment of masks.

We present slightly different versions of ourselves to our mothers, our bosses and our dentists. Every second spent around other people is a second spent (consciously or unconsciously) deciding how to perform.

Only isolation provides the opportunity to wrestle with ourselves. To peel back the masks we dance around in and decide which we’re willing to put back on. To ask ourselves truly: what are the masks we wear in attempt to fool ourselves?

And more importantly, how might we return to the world a little more authentic?

Peace doesn’t always mean everyone agrees with you or does what you’re comfortable with them doing.

Sometimes peace means walking seperate and opposite paths to those with which your path is incompatible.

It’s the crossing of opposing paths which breeds disdain.

Peace isn’t a lack of disagreement. It’s a lack of conflict.

Locational pride declines the more our world becomes connected.

It used to be that you were born here (wherever that might be) and across borders and oceans, some perhaps seemingly in-traversable, lived people who were born elsewhere.

Due to the nature, difficulty, cost and danger associated with travel, elsewhere may have been so far our of your periphery that you wouldn’t have even considered leaving where you were.

Without having access to elsewhere yourself, the only way you could make sense of here and elsewhere is through the stories you’re told. If it so happens that the majority of those stories were told to you by people who were born on the same plot, it’s likely that here sounded pretty good when compared to elsewhere.

We all have a bias towards the place from which we come because it’s the beginning to each of our stories.

What’s changing is how we relate here to elsewhere. In a world where global travel is accessible to the working class and anyone with an internet connection can take a virtual tour of the colosseum, everywhere is beginning to feel like here.

Even the concept of nationalism seems alien to a generation who have grown up knowing that the earth is their back yard.

Promised that if they work hard enough, they can explore it as they please.

Here is no longer the 50km radius around the homestead you were born in.

Here is everywhere.

Which is why national pride is a joke to a growing proportion of the young.

For what right do we have to be proud of our here until every inch of the planet accessible to us is at peace?