Tabula rasa

Philosophers call is tabula rasa. A blank slate. An unscripted tablet. First attributed by Aristotle and debated and thought about by every major philosopher from Locke to the psychoanalysis of Sigmund Freud. Is a soul empty at birth, penned by every interaction, every experience, each parent and teacher and friend and relationship. A checker at the market. A camp counselor. Through violence and love, through fear and great triumph, or is there a destination on everyone, an evil spoke about in Lord of Flies which lives in some and not understood by others. What comes at birth, what can be fixed, what is lasting.

Hell if I know.

I decided when I was 24 years old, and not because it was any special age or day, year or occasion, that I would just believe everyone was good at heart. There was a core of goodness in everyone. I'd trust everyone, and approach life from a place of love with every human being. If for no better reason, than that seemed the easiest, if not best way, to live. There have been some hiccups to this plan, and most come by way, by form, of dating.

There are girls that give second chances. I'm not one of them. Because I'm a girl that gives 8 chances. A ridiculously unusual amount of chances. Based solely in a 24 year old girls idea that somewhere, deep down, everyone is, good.

Hence before the start of the following personal essay I do the unusual, and start it with the lesson, the Aesop Fables morale: Whether Aristotle or Locke, Freud or their thousands of debaters are right, or are wrong, I have no doubt that with birth comes this thing. The most critically important, if not you're dead without it trait. If not you wouldn't want to live without it. Instinct.

Call it gut, call it instinct, I do because I work too hard for a six pack. Instinct is what has made my 20s a hilarious cautionary tale, and has led me to some marvelous adventures, but has kept me alive. So when in this morale, I do not trust it, a very very bad thing happens.

Some time ago, in a not very far off place, I met someone. A decent looking stranger, with an east coast accent, and a fanciness for me. Thriving off the attraction and attention and not obvious reasons why this was a very very bad, horrible idea, I went on date one. Date one was a great success, and date two was arranged. Between dates one and dates two the curiousness came. The 'there's just something not right here.' I ignored it. In my 24 year olds mind of everyone being awesomely good. And so when date two came, and went, and felt even more wrong, that too I ignored. I tried my best to balance the attention and the attraction with at that point a very faint voice saying 'please turn the other way and run very very quickly.' Date two gave way to a long silence and I hoped that the voice wouldn't be necessary as I'd managed to come out unscathed. Until date three.

Good, bad, deaths, and for just good storytelling, all things happen in 3s. I recently found out a 3rd person, that I'm aware of, doesn't like me. While I was briefly bummed to find this out, it did round my "people who don't like me" to 3. And for that I appreciated it.

Date three.

The faint, scant voice said don't go. By that point the voice was being so clear as to say 'you're being self destructive.' But I wouldn't listen. Mostly because I probably was being self destructive. And so I went. I went and it was horrible. It was horrible and it was mean and I have never talked to my creator with a not so faint, not so scant voice of absolute gratitude for allowing me to ignore my better instinct but letting me out, unscathed.

I don't know what Aristotle or Locke or Freud would say about this man should they have voices today. How they would explain its inexcusable meanness, a meanness I can't help but proves there is evil in the world, and evil in the soul and tablet. I don't know. I do know, that I will never, ever, not ever again, in this life, ignore my instinct. If it tells me to get up in the middle of a spaghetti dinner I will.

And that's all I'm interested in penning on my slate.