There have been times in my life where I have made a mountain out of a molehill. In some cases mountains out of a molehill. I generally consider myself to be a rational person, yet there are times in my life that I am forced to concede that I am irrational.
I could make a long list of things I’m irrational about. My irrational fear of small animals and insects. My love of history is deemed by many to be irrational. The choices I have made or have considered making, are in the eyes of many, irrational.
Most of the time I just brush off the cries of “you are irrational” ignoring them, content in who I am. Sometimes though, I choose to embrace the cry, acknowledging to the individual that yes, to them at least, I am irrational but I have chosen to embrace their term for me because their definition of irrational perfectly fits my definition of rational.
But there are times, like with my fear of creatures which are many times smaller than me, that I consider my behaviour to be irrational, as do those around me. There is no rational reason why I should be scared, yet I am.
As I develop into a personality of my own and call it or hear it being called rational and irrational, I need to think about why it has been given this title. Is it called this because I’m not fitting in with agreed standards? And if I’m not, should I be or should I have my own opinion? Are my actions really irrational or do I just have a different set of priorities to everyone else?
Sometimes you’ll discover that you’re being irrational and that’s when it’s worth changing your behaviour. But at other times you’ll realise that you are being completely rational, you just have a different definition of rationality to everyone else.