One of my favorite films is The Rules of Attraction, particularly for a few, salient lines that have resonated with me on an all-too-personal level. The particular line which inspired this piece, along with a small comment from my therapist, is this:

"Nobody knows anyone. You will never ever know me."

It's a wonderfully nebulous, angsty quip, right alongside the "shadow of a stranger's ghost" bit but what does it really mean? I venture it has nothing to do with an inherent meaning but rather the one we ascribe to it as we mull it over in our minds (if you're the sort inclined to, which I imagine you are if you are still reading my Byzantine rambles).

My therapist's comment on the subject was an observation on my tendency to deliver my host of demons neatly labeled and categorized on a proverbial silver platter. Perhaps a departure from the classic expectation of arriving with a lump of raw emotion that needed to be molded into a cogent narrative or a jumbled jigsaw of thoughts and feelings that simply need direction. My therapist's point was that they felt a certain disconnect - the joint processing and sharing aspect usurped by my own, industrious analysis prior to the session.

I imagine it must be like the difference between attending an important event with someone (i.e. wedding, big game, opening night performance, etc.) and simply being told about it afterward, perhaps with a picture or two.

More specifically, they felt that although I had been painfully candid and open (as is the nature of therapy) that they didn't quite know me, having missed out on those key moments of joint processing.

Those two statements together got me to thinking about the ways that we put our best selves forward if by doing so we prevent anyone from really knowing us.

Does anyone really know you?

Do you know you?

Do you know yourself well enough to be judicious in how well you let others know you?

I know myself all too well but I can't truly speak to whether or not anyone knows me. My (ideally) rapt audience and my therapist know all too well my melancholy, ennui, and general malaise but are most certainly not privy to my jests or cherished dreams. Conversely, those near to me who may be adversely impacted by the former, I take careful steps to ensure they are only privy to my triumphs and my tribulations.

What do you do?

Do you share the good and the not-so-good with those close to you?

Are you careful in your dissemination of personal information?

Following these confessions, do you feel like you know me?

I certainly don't know you and I may never.

I dare to say that despite our candid talks, you won't ever know me but do you feel like you know anyone? Truly?

Does anyone know you?

If you can stomach the acrid hypocrisy and delicious irony of the crow calling the raven black, I might suggest that you let someone know you, then maybe they'll let you know them.