Ah angst, we meet again.
It's hard to put such an ugly phrase to describe such a common condition in my recent life, but honesty is something I'm trying to pursue more often with myself. I'm right at the cusp of starting my life: I'm coming out of my adolescent fantasies and entering reality, which is, sadly, not as exciting and limitless as I once naively hoped. Which, naturally, translates to feeling unhappy when other people successfully pursue their dreams. These are not privileged people with a special head start on life that you never got: these are people that you went to high school and college with, that you hung out with on weekends, that you grew up with. Considering their socio-economic, ethnic, national, educational backgrounds, you are virtually identical to them. Then why does success come so easily to them? Why does opportunity seem to knock them over at every corner, while you begin every day by reminding yourself to "keep going" till it makes sense?
I'm afraid to say that I don't have the answer to this question. If I did, I wouldn't be so bitterly writing this blog post. I think the reason I feel worse than most others would, is because I'm not mediocre. I have talent and eloquence and opinions: I matter. But somehow, these people, these unnamed scores of once-average plebeians, have shown about themselves what I know about myself to the world. They have found their voice, they have found themselves.
They are closer to discovering the rest of their lives, and they are secure in the knowledge that they know what they want, and they are going for it. In the meantime, I waste time thinking too much. While I criticize their grammar or means or style, I envy their assurance. I'm terribly jealous.
If I knew what I wanted, I know I would go for it. I wouldn't mind rejections because I would have earned them, and they would be steps towards greater accomplishments. Who knew there would be so many options with such opacity? There's so much I want to do, with no clear way of doing it, and this weakens me. The why is not the problem: It's the how. And maybe the what: What doesn't frighten me when I think about doing it for the rest of my life? What inspires such passion that I don't mind working nights, weekends, holidays? Do I just give in to the anti-feminist ideal that I have rebelled against since I learned how to read, and get married? I'm told motherhood is quite a hard job, after all. If only I didn't despise children and love my current factory set up downstairs so much.
Maybe the trouble is that I'm thinking in terms of "jobs", and not passions. A really good friend of mine recently mentioned to me how 'life has destroyed our creativity'. I remember remarking how true this was: when we were younger, newer, we dreamt big. No idea was too ridiculous. As we grow up, rationality starts creeping in, and nothing kills creativity and dreams quicker than rational, adult thought.
The future was always such an abstract concept. And now, at 22, it's here. It's now. And it has the gall to ask me to contribute tangibly. And I have no idea how.
If I knew what I wanted, I know I would go for it. I wouldn't mind rejections because I would have earned them, and they would be steps towards greater accomplishments. Who knew there would be so many options with such opacity? There's so much I want to do, with no clear way of doing it, and this weakens me. The why is not the problem: It's the how. And maybe the what: What doesn't frighten me when I think about doing it for the rest of my life? What inspires such passion that I don't mind working nights, weekends, holidays? Do I just give in to the anti-feminist ideal that I have rebelled against since I learned how to read, and get married? I'm told motherhood is quite a hard job, after all. If only I didn't despise children and love my current factory set up downstairs so much.
Maybe the trouble is that I'm thinking in terms of "jobs", and not passions. A really good friend of mine recently mentioned to me how 'life has destroyed our creativity'. I remember remarking how true this was: when we were younger, newer, we dreamt big. No idea was too ridiculous. As we grow up, rationality starts creeping in, and nothing kills creativity and dreams quicker than rational, adult thought.
The future was always such an abstract concept. And now, at 22, it's here. It's now. And it has the gall to ask me to contribute tangibly. And I have no idea how.
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