Keep it to yourself
“Every form of happiness is private. Our greatest moments are personal, self-motivated, not to be touched.”
I love this quote from Ayn Rand. When I read “The Fountainhead” at 14 something about her words rang so true to me even then. Before I could fully see what would become of the people surrounding me. They update their Facebook incessantly, like it’s their job. They tell me their itineraries, their successes, their failures. They not-so-subtlety beg for sympathy. They try their darndest to look “sexy” or “casual” in every picture they post. These people are not REAL. I’m definitely not as superior to them as I sound like I am right now. I’m aware of that. I still have a Facebook, I intermittently go on it. I write thoughts in a public forum. But their lives wreak of desperation. And more than ever I find myself running the words of Ayn Rand’s quote over and over again in my mind. I feel it on my fingertips and under my skin. It whispers itself to me at the peak of particular experiences. Why?
My happiest, truest, purest moments are absolutely private. Why does my generation want others to bear witness to these moments? Why do they try desperately to create it out of shallowness, vapidity and fake moments? Why do they want these moments to be touched?