The older I get, the more willing I am to accept that I don’t know as much as I thought I did. Suggesting that all truth is relative is a bullshit cop-out. But it’s possible to acknowledge that something that looks provably true may turn out to be wrong.
My dad’s old joke that 2+2=5 for very large values of 2 gets meatier every year.
I know when I’m telling a perfect truth. The internal compass always points to true north, and there’s no doubt in my heart, whether it’s a declaration of love or a declaration of dinner being on the table.
Other beliefs can be flexible; political allegiances can tack port and starboard, sweaters can be worn one more time after all, and certain cats might be acceptable companions. We do the best we can with the information we have. We outgrow pants, romances and careers. Sometimes it hurts. Outgrowing a partner is awful. Outgrowing a favorite pair of jeans is right up there. But remaining open to learning is important, and the ability to see many truths in an issue, an artwork or an argument is invaluable.
But behold, this truth is immutable. It is empirically provable. It is a Real Truth: I have enough bottle openers. Seriously. Thank you all. I’ve got this. There are people in the world with capped beers. Next time you’re feeling generous, send one along to one of them.
Truly, I’m good. Thanks.