I think one of the reasons I'm not
really worth much anymore is a kind of denial about what I've been
bred for.
Quickly, school teaches you to be “trainable” for a job. My household growing up, while we would get kicked outside sometimes, my mom was happy if we were pacified by TV and video games. When I lived with my dad and we were broke, more of the same. Even leaving school I followed in the vein of “entrepreneurship manuals” trying to deny the larger social contexts. I've literally only spent 5 years, maybe, without any expectations but to pay the rent. A cost I've reduced to being manageable part-time at minimum wage, if/when my circumstances press me to find a job like that.
I'm a little like a returning soldier without the PTSD. You had a duty every day. You had orders and you respected authority. I managed to turn a habit of reading into opportunities to shit on things. That's barely fun or worthwhile. No one that I would spend time with has escaped the rat-race. Not that they'd get by mentally as easy as I've managed without something more concrete to look forward to.
That's another aspect too. My dreams are much more abstract. Learning about the roads to potential solutions forces you to broaden your approach. You can't just ace a test or get promoted. You have to endear yourself, have more money than you planned for, and squeak out a little luck. You either have to prepare for failure after failure, or have the patience to roll out what you want to do with the appropriate bases covered. But will it happen in 10 months or 10 years, if at all?
It's great if you read all the time and then get to bring it to a classroom. It's awesome to watch a ton of shows if anyone around you had the time to catch them as well. It's also great if you're pursuing a specific kind of job. I've been told a few times that I should write. But, once it becomes an obligation, the writing will suffer. I don't think I've had 10 papers in my entirety of school that were praised for their clarity or depth. Someone said, “this needs x amount of words” and I begrudgingly said “fine.” More than I want to report, I want to fix that reporting is reduced to attention grabbing and regarded as “unhelpfully biased.”
My mind wanders to thoughts about volunteering. Is my hand the one that is necessary on a soup line? Am I the compassionate soul willing to listen in on a crisis line? Will I be humbled after 100 hours picking up garbage or being a Big Brother to little Timmy, lying to him about how likely his mom might kick her addiction? I've helped old people with odd landscaping and shoveling jobs. The thought “I went to college for this?” drowning out the noise from the leaf blower. Injecting my capacity for cynicism into sensitive areas like that seems a little play-with-fire-y.
Then I read about neurotic famous inventors or philosophers. They didn't have 50 shows a season to distract themselves and 24 hour gym memberships. And the things they were inventing or postulating stemmed from practically zero experimentation or previous knowledge. You could be an amateur everything and write for days, then hope future historians leave out the volumes of bullshit conclusions you came to before your noteworthy contributions.
I lean so heavily on experiences with the party house, coffee shop, or relationship things because they're the only things that are mine. Everything else is me in school or me broke or me “bored.” I'm as much a social butterfly as angry quiet nerd isolated in his man-cave. I'm as hard a worker as I am advocate for pulling you from the hamster wheel. But I'm more useful to someone in a context that I generally disagree with than I'm able to discern or create by myself.
I just don't know what it's going to mean. I'd get it if Kristen was like “peace!” because she liked uber-motivated passionate knows-his-shit me, but I melted into “the guy who's known for hanging out.” I don't really expect to maintain friendships where I resonate as some kind of sad memory. And it's not like I don't think there's room for genuine expression or value, but it's as hazy and abstract as my goals have become. I want to “create.” Saying that having just watched “True Life: I'm starting a religion” with two very mentally unsure people who certainly created to their heart's content and me having zero compassion or ability to respect and empathize.
Leaving a context throws your whole existence into question. Do I need to be more than blogs? Does it matter to have my own certificate or credentials tacked on the wall? You're certainly never “smart enough.” I'm not seeking “happiness.” I just generally want enough money to fail over and over again. And it turns out I have to do next to nothing in order to achieve that. Oops.
Quickly, school teaches you to be “trainable” for a job. My household growing up, while we would get kicked outside sometimes, my mom was happy if we were pacified by TV and video games. When I lived with my dad and we were broke, more of the same. Even leaving school I followed in the vein of “entrepreneurship manuals” trying to deny the larger social contexts. I've literally only spent 5 years, maybe, without any expectations but to pay the rent. A cost I've reduced to being manageable part-time at minimum wage, if/when my circumstances press me to find a job like that.
I'm a little like a returning soldier without the PTSD. You had a duty every day. You had orders and you respected authority. I managed to turn a habit of reading into opportunities to shit on things. That's barely fun or worthwhile. No one that I would spend time with has escaped the rat-race. Not that they'd get by mentally as easy as I've managed without something more concrete to look forward to.
That's another aspect too. My dreams are much more abstract. Learning about the roads to potential solutions forces you to broaden your approach. You can't just ace a test or get promoted. You have to endear yourself, have more money than you planned for, and squeak out a little luck. You either have to prepare for failure after failure, or have the patience to roll out what you want to do with the appropriate bases covered. But will it happen in 10 months or 10 years, if at all?
It's great if you read all the time and then get to bring it to a classroom. It's awesome to watch a ton of shows if anyone around you had the time to catch them as well. It's also great if you're pursuing a specific kind of job. I've been told a few times that I should write. But, once it becomes an obligation, the writing will suffer. I don't think I've had 10 papers in my entirety of school that were praised for their clarity or depth. Someone said, “this needs x amount of words” and I begrudgingly said “fine.” More than I want to report, I want to fix that reporting is reduced to attention grabbing and regarded as “unhelpfully biased.”
My mind wanders to thoughts about volunteering. Is my hand the one that is necessary on a soup line? Am I the compassionate soul willing to listen in on a crisis line? Will I be humbled after 100 hours picking up garbage or being a Big Brother to little Timmy, lying to him about how likely his mom might kick her addiction? I've helped old people with odd landscaping and shoveling jobs. The thought “I went to college for this?” drowning out the noise from the leaf blower. Injecting my capacity for cynicism into sensitive areas like that seems a little play-with-fire-y.
Then I read about neurotic famous inventors or philosophers. They didn't have 50 shows a season to distract themselves and 24 hour gym memberships. And the things they were inventing or postulating stemmed from practically zero experimentation or previous knowledge. You could be an amateur everything and write for days, then hope future historians leave out the volumes of bullshit conclusions you came to before your noteworthy contributions.
I lean so heavily on experiences with the party house, coffee shop, or relationship things because they're the only things that are mine. Everything else is me in school or me broke or me “bored.” I'm as much a social butterfly as angry quiet nerd isolated in his man-cave. I'm as hard a worker as I am advocate for pulling you from the hamster wheel. But I'm more useful to someone in a context that I generally disagree with than I'm able to discern or create by myself.
I just don't know what it's going to mean. I'd get it if Kristen was like “peace!” because she liked uber-motivated passionate knows-his-shit me, but I melted into “the guy who's known for hanging out.” I don't really expect to maintain friendships where I resonate as some kind of sad memory. And it's not like I don't think there's room for genuine expression or value, but it's as hazy and abstract as my goals have become. I want to “create.” Saying that having just watched “True Life: I'm starting a religion” with two very mentally unsure people who certainly created to their heart's content and me having zero compassion or ability to respect and empathize.
Leaving a context throws your whole existence into question. Do I need to be more than blogs? Does it matter to have my own certificate or credentials tacked on the wall? You're certainly never “smart enough.” I'm not seeking “happiness.” I just generally want enough money to fail over and over again. And it turns out I have to do next to nothing in order to achieve that. Oops.
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