Julia wants me to write this.

I have the word “reality” in the title of this blog, but it occurs to me that I look at the concept of what is “real” in a bit of an eccentric way.

Many people say “real”, without thinking, to mean “physically existing.” For example, if I tell you about my friend Julia, and someone asks me “is she real?” they are probably asking me whether she is a person I meet and talk to, not whether there exists a concept that I label “my friend Julia”. Even more extreme is those people who differentiate between something that happened on the internet and something that happened to them in person by saying that the offline event happened “in real life” (or “IRL”).

The more I live, the less I make this distinction. To me, “real” is a term that means that something exists in some way. Love is real. Mercy is real. Curiosity is real. Beauty is real. We perceive these things, and therefore they are real (even if someone else might not perceive them in the same object, or at all.) Yet they are, I might argue, less physical than something that happened on the Internet. And, subjective as they are, they are as real as the concept in my head that is “my friend Julia”. They are also as real as the physical person of Shakespeare, as the latter has long since ceased to physically exist; yet because he lived once and because we collectively have memories of the things he has done, we call him real.

What is the most real of all things? Existence itself. And existence is not only what is physical; it is also our perception. If humour and grief exist, if the colour orange exists, if our own identities exist, then we must admit our perceptions to be part of existence. To me, that makes them real.

So even if my friend Julia turns out to be someone I completely made up for the sake of this example, she is real, because you and I are sharing the perception of a friend named Julia. Moreso if I use her as an example often; if I find this concept to be useful, if I like the idea, if other people start envisioning her in their minds– all of these things will reinforce her importance to me and to anyone else who reads this. And the more important she is, the more we think about her, the more this concept exists strongly and powerfully in our minds, the more this concept becomes real. And then, even if she is not a person physically going around being human, there is a very real “friend named Julia”– that friend just happens to be a concept rather than a physical girl. But is she a real girl? Certainly so, conceptually.

And even if it’s true that I met Julia on the internet rather than in college, she is every bit as real. To think that what happens on the internet has no reality is preposterous. I am, fairly obviously, a human being (did you think this entry was generated by a computer?) and so, I trust, are you. I am saying things and you are reading them. This affects us both. Is that effect imaginary? No, I’d say it’s quite real. However you are reacting to what I’m saying right now is real. (Even if no one reads this, I am imagining a hypothetical reader reacting, and that concept is real, as a concept.) You and I may not know each other from Adam, but just because we are strangers does not make us any less real, and nor does it make our interaction somehow imaginary. I often think that the failure to parse the internet as a real place is what causes a lot of trolling, flames, and other rude internet behaviour: the callous person’s rejoinder is often “lol, this person takes the internet way too seriously”, but why would anyone take human interaction any less than seriously? The word “callous” is carefully chosen here, being the antonym of “sensate”: a callous person has forgotten to sense reality and notice the truth– that there is a real exchange taking place between living human people, and that that is just as serious as the meeting of any two strangers. (Of course, if they think that no interaction between strangers can ever be serious, then they are insensate in a different way.)

So what do I mean when I ask you to “embrace the warm facts of reality”? I mean for you to embrace the warm facts that exist. Whether these come from the world around you, or from interactions between you and others, or from inside of you, or even from the idle fancies of your own mind, I want you to hold them close to yourself and remember how beautiful they are. I want you to bask in all of those things that you find positive and pleasant, to cling to them and never forget how precious they are. I want you to not dismiss anything that makes you happier, however trivial, even if you’ve made it up. I want you to know and care about and spend your precious life thinking about things that fulfil you, and I don’t want you to push any of them aside because you are afraid that they are unimportant, figments of your imagination, or dreams that might not come true. I want you to love what makes you happy, because it is the best way to spend your life.

Oh, and my friend Julia thinks so too.

“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

I’m usually not one to suggest that people follow proverbs, but I think this one is sensible advice: don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Because if the basket falls, everything will be broken. People’s hearts are the same way.

Most people don’t want to feel as though they are solely responsible for someone else’s happiness, as though they are the only thing supporting that person emotionally. Because that’s such a lot of pressure, so much to live up to; it’s much more comfortable to think, well, this person cares about me, and yes they’d be sad if something were to happen to me, but they would have someone else as well to pull them through, and wouldn’t be left all alone in the world. They have a support network, something else to make their life worthwhile without me.

There’s a somewhat lighter (if still bothersome) case of this, though, a very common one: someone confesses feelings for you that you don’t return. Suddenly you’re responsible for making them happy. Their emotions are so strong, and they’re breathlessly waiting, and the world seems to hang on your response to them. You know that if you say no, you’re going to make them miserable. Are you going to say yes just to placate them, even if you don’t want to? Or are you going to say no and make them miserable? It’s awfully tempting to say yes, and worry about how you’re going to get out of the pickle later. The problem is, saying yes is worse, because then they trust you and place their hopes in you, and to let them down later hurts them even worse. It’s an uncomfortable situation, because you’re simultaneously presented with this huge responsibility for how the other person is going to feel, and also with the knowledge that the truth is going to disappoint them, that the outcome you need to deliver to them is the worst-case scenario. Sometimes you feel obligated and guilty because you know that your response will be a disappointment, even though it’s not your fault for not happening to love the other.

It’s not that the party who has feelings can help it, mind; love is an emotion that burns to be expressed, that is painful when held in, because its nature is to overflow. But it’s not the other party’s fault for not having feelings, either, and they too are in an awkward and often upsetting situation.

A lot of people panic and handle this badly. There are about a thousand ways to handle it badly, and many people try what turn out to be bad ideas in a desperate attempt to figure out what one should do. The problem is, there’s no way to make the situation all right. No matter what one does, they will hurt someone, and choosing how to handle it can be a painful and confusing dilemma. No one wants to be in this situation– they feel guilty enough, and on top of that, the way our society’s view of unrequited love works, the story is “supposed to” end with both parties finding true love. Society wants to make the person who doesn’t return feelings into the villain, forgetting that it’s an unpleasant and sometimes painful situation for them too.

But the other end can be handled badly, too– someone with unrequited love is placing the other in that painful situation, sometimes over and over again. No one should ever be blamed for approaching someone and telling them of their feelings– by contrast, they should be praised! as it takes such courage to do. But then, if it doesn’t work… don’t keep putting that person in the pain of having to decide over and over whether to hurt you, how to handle it, what to say. I’ve done it to others and I’ve had it done to me. I know it well. It’s bad. I should never have done it to someone and I hope that people do not do it to others either. If you really love them, you want what’s in their best interests, you don’t want to put them through that pain again and again.

Moreover, you shouldn’t be putting all your eggs in their basket anyway; it keeps you from moving on. Look around you for someone or something else to love. Loving itself brings happiness; it is expectations that bring sadness. Perhaps it is time to let the past alone. You might have been severely disappointed in love; you might have even lost a dear friend; but you have more than one basket to fill with your love. You may have baskets labelled “close friends”, “family”, “pets”, even “my hobby” or “appreciation of the pretty sky.” Of course losing someone important will make you sad for a little while, but you have a life to live, and an infinite world around you to love. And if you’re wise, you’ve built up a support network, and your heart depends on more than one person. This is the time to remember how much they care about you and how wonderful it is to have them, how, even if you have lost a very dear person in your life, you have others. Your idea of your own self-worth should not depend entirely on one person; you should not be as fragile as that. Everyone is deeply worthy of being loved and cared about, and everyone needs love and care, and the wise take care to make sure that there is always more than one person in their life providing that.