Nearly every day I read about how bad things are. I read about “my place” in the social hierarchy and all the things afflicting me and people my age. I read about our addictions and anxiety. I read about how we can’t afford nights out or to have less than multiple jobs. I read about how disorganized and selfish our culture has made us. I get the analogies to third world or developing nations. I’m told to imagine what happens when we bumble our way into trade and actual wars with Russia or North Korea. People are fat, lonely, scared, and have absolutely zero prospects for the future despite their newly launched “personal brand” and Youtube channel combined with extra “grit” and “hustle” to make renting out rooms and driving for Uber sound chic.
I know full well how our expectations have been molded by greedy corporate interests and racist governmental bodies. I know that “at the top” of the cultural narrative regarding white men I’m not supposed to be allowed sympathy despite holding none of the views of the people who’ve caused the problems. I know that when I get all filled with excitement at the prospect of experimenting on some entrepreneurial goal, that alone is a privilege most can’t find the time or money for. I can point to a dozen instances of sheer luck that have allowed me to flirt with attaining the kind of future I see for myself.
I suppose I just find it incredibly intriguing and complex how far and fast my life has diverged with me still finding a way to cling to some version of my initial goals. I always knew there was something about me that could speak to success and excelling. It’s hard to take the behavior from the adults around me growing up as anything less than indicative of what they knew they could expect of me. Whether you’re the fastest, the only one acing the test, or the one gaining the most in-class currency and spending most of your day learning your own thing, certain ideas about yourself get cemented.
I wanted to be “retired” by 30, for example. I thought with my work ethic and budgeting skills, regardless of the job I got out of college, I would live like my uncle (same car for 20 years, small apartment, good job), and stash if not invest most of it. I’d either excel and work within the company, or I’d at least have plenty of money to do all the experiments I thought about without too much fuss. It wasn’t very complicated. It was take my over-achieving attitude and willingness to work longer and harder and just get shit done.
Weather providing, I can build a small house and be “technically” retired by 28. It would look nothing like I planned, but it would count. I’d only have the bills old people pay, save health costs. I’d engage with things at my leisure as a full time job. I’d be as generally isolated or lonely as I took for granted I’d be in the past. It would be a “success” story in spite of all the pitfalls and setbacks reality has laid out.
I don’t know how to feel about it. I can’t sustain “positive” energy for long periods of time, so I feel like I’m looking at my life as if it’s a complicated math equation I have no idea how to approach. Sure, I could parse out each symbol and spend my time rooting the fundamentals, but I don’t really know what it means. It’s not something I could apply to anyone else’s situation in a meaningful way. I’m still just sort of selfishly covering my ass as I’ve always known how and then...what? A certain level of security is appreciated, but my life is still much of a gamble. At least the bet rides mostly on me.
