Eventually, we have to start believing our own bullshit if we are going to survive in the world. The soul that’s constantly wracked by self doubt will slowly fall behind and lose its place in the fray. Can’t just stand there gagging on everything coming out of our mouths, gaging each statement for veracity, tenacity, and moral turpitude, or we will spin down into a standstill, paralyzed, paranoid, and lethargic, never really sure that what we think and know is correct enough to join the conversation.
I don’t mean the big picture truths, the major moral questions of our society. I mean the assumptions we have about ourselves, our lives, the things we learn and the truths we deduce and synthesize from smaller fragments; the stuff we talk about over coffee, the bits of chatter in the cubicles, the water cooler talk. We make jokes about know-it-alls, but to some extent, they have it right — they’re sure of things and are unconcerned with being wrong, and when they are corrected, they either learn or they double-down. The happy medium is always somewhere in the middle.
I write this more to myself than to you, but if I can say it with enough conviction, if I can believe it, then maybe you can believe it, too.