I may end up blogging more often now.  It seems like a good idea, anyways.

There is a little story arc in Grave of the Fireflies where the two main characters start to come into conflict with the society around them because they are, in my words, "unable to contribute value" to those around them.  They can't be part of the system, because they only know how to take, and not to how give.  Faced with this choice, the decision was not to integrate, but instead to distance -- to run away and face a life that abstained from the help of others.  You can probably guess from what you know of the movie that it maybe didn't end so well.

I've been having talks with different people, too, sometimes about a fear of being "unable to contribute".  Unable to "carry weight".  The thought of that phrase reminds me of Toph's little episode in Avatar: The Last Airbender when she doesn't see anything wrong with her being self-sufficient on her own instead of contributing to her newfound group.  There is a weird sort of push and pull that I feel when thinking about this aspect and attitude (maybe there are similarly-split attitudes on Toph as a character overall?), and about being a loner or a social outcast versus being part of the group, integrating into society, and pitching in as well as "pitching out" for lack of better word.

In the end of course I think perhaps both are necessary (this "both are needed" has become my new sort of "cop-out" answer for everything as of late).  But it sure is easier to run away and be the loner than to approach a societal unknown, especially when you fear rejection.  This was echoed in a visual novel that I just finished reading ("Dreamy Planet"), that had a line in it, "it was easier to act like a child than like as an adult".  I again have complicated and mixed feelings about this, because I tend to place a lot of importance on attempting to preserve this aspect of childhood (if you could call it that) -- the idea that if you are scared of something, you don't need to push yourself to do it.  You don't need to "grow up" and confront all of your fears, to do "what you should".  It's fine to just stay naive if that is what you feel comfortable with.  But of course, at the same time, there are ways in which growing up can help us, too.

At the end of the day we say that every human life carries value, that you should seek your own inherent self-worth.  But at the same time, that sequence from Grave of the Fireflies shows us that sometimes what you are capable of providing is not necessarily something that helps others, or is valued.  Through my high school and college life, I was "providing" quite a lot to others, but the way in which I was doing so was...misguided?  You can say, of course, that everyone's life is precious, but that does not mean that everyone is valued as a person in the same way.  Grave of Fireflies I think had me thinking about this as it showed the "beauty" of the two main characters in simply being children, of loving each other and seeking out their own little precious moments in life.  But this "beauty" wasn't something that was needed, or valued, in the world which they found theirselves in.  If they had buckled down, if they had learned to be adults, if they had bought into the system, maybe they would have managed to survive.  But in doing so they would have also lost something else, isn't that right?

Two close friends of mine recently attended a mini burning man-type event for the first time.  Hearing about their stories made me think about the nature of "giving" and "receiving", and how the concept of "being able to be self-reliant" seemed to prepare these people for being able to give and receive freely.  That when you are lacking something vital to you, the world becomes centered around needs and goods.  You think about what you can get in return for what you offer.  For things that feel vital, it can feel like a life and death situation.  Food, shelter, safety, resources -- these are vital, of course, too, but also love.  But perhaps it is when we have already managed to fill up our own bottles of water that we become not only able to more freely give our extra share, but also to freely receive that of others.

I'm not sure if it's related, but I've been thinking about how my answer to "how should I think about becoming more outgoing?" has been that I need to first be happy with not changing anything about who I am.  I need to be comfortable in my own skin, and then, and only then, can I start to grow.

Put another way, it is only from the =inside= of my comfort zone that I can expand it.  I cannot hope to expand it if I am already outside of it.

Perhaps this is what people mean by "loving one's self" or "working on yourself" (which is admittedly too vague of a term to begin with), or at least the way in which it applies and relates to me personally.  That somehow, ironically, the best way of moving forward is to first stop and stand completely still.  Of course, it's not always that simple.  But maybe sometimes it is?  I'm not sure yet, really.