I used to believe that I wanted to hang out with “interesting” people. There used to be people in this world who shared their life story or their thoughts on the world, and I would be enamored and enthralled by their experiences and by their insights. They would possess some sort of wow factor to their existence, and I would eat that shit up because I believed that I was boring and I would be more interesting by associating myself with people that were “interesting” to me.
Sometime in the past year, I realized that people who were allegedly “interesting” can be quite drab. I’m not sure when the realization settled in. I think I just became disillusioned to a lot of people in my life who fell from grace. It’s not that they turned out to be less interesting as I originally thought they were; they were still just as interesting, but the appeal of being interesting in the first place faded away. I realized that I didn’t necessarily want to spend time with people who prided themselves on how interesting they were. Being interesting to hear from isn’t the same as being fun to be with.
Lana, I feel like this is a relic of my clout chasing days. It was all a part of a past when I believed I could be more interesting by associating myself with interesting people. I realize that this isn’t what I value anymore. I used to think that being interesting was the most important thing in the world. I’m not sure why I felt that way anymore. It seems like such a ridiculous concept to me — boiling the value of friendship through a dimension of perceived interestingness. When I say it out loud, it become even more strange.
It’s so weird, Lana. Why was I ever like that?