That thinking that I just mentioned has been going on constantly since yesterday morning, but it's been lingering since a long time before that. It's most likely a product of lack of sleep. It's also likely a side effect of working your ass off towards something you're not even sure that you want, and in all likelihood, will give up on eventually when you realize that it just ain't for you.
The truth is, I'd probably back out now if it wasn't for all the money I've got tied up in it.
And so, I look for other options.
What's got me the most worried about this whole situation, (because it certainly isn't anything new) is that I just can't help but make the comparison to Frank Wheeler from the recent movie (which I understand is based on a novel) Revolutionary Road. Which, if you've seen the movie, probably sounds dramatic, and it is, but I assure you there are similarities there. If you haven't seen it, you should.
See, I'm the kind of person that can, eventually, find a way to be happy with almost any situation. That's why this weird point in my life is so important--because while I know that I'll be "happy" in some way wherever I end up, I don't want to look back and wish that things had been different or that I'd had the guts to try something. If there's something that I really want to do, now's the time to figure it out and go for it, before all of the responsibilities and weights of the world that I'm bound to end up in start to wrap around my wrists and ankles and keep me in one place for the rest of my days. But half of the time, I think that to be more desirable to the alternative. The problem is, I don't really know what that alternative is. There's a million different paths, a million different destinations, and, as exciting as all of that is, it's equally as terrifying. It'd be one thing if I could just narrow it down to a few choices--I'd make a list of pros and cons or something and go from there--but there is no narrowing. If anything, the list gets broader and more extensive with each passing day. The only way I've ever been able to rule anything out is to actually try it, and there's no way that I have time to try all of these possibilities.
The problem all comes down to something very fundamental about myself: I've always had this feeling or sense of being meant for big things and that I had a special purpose and place in this world, that I was going to be different, that I was going to make a difference. While this is great because it means I've had an upbringing that reared me to expect things of myself, to have confidence, that I've had opportunities, it also sucks because it means that I'm not satisfied with the idea of a life that the majority of those around me seem to have no trouble settling into. At least not yet. Will I eventually just roll over and fall in line? That's what I've been planning. That's why I'm in school to be a high school teacher and why I'm coaching a high school baseball team and why I moved back with my parents and why I got a job at Home Depot and why I lie awake at night and can't fall asleep and why, half the time, I feel sick to my stomach.
And what really pisses me off about all of this, is that I should be grateful to have such an opportunity. This is the opportunity that my parents worked so hard to give me. An opportunity that how many people around the country, around the world, would be more than happy to have. So why can't I embrace it? Maybe one of these days, when the last shred of my youth sloughs away like a dead skin cell, I'll make something of myself.
So how about Bob Dylan's ghost pushing product along Wyclef Jean during the SuperBowl?
See, I'm the kind of person that can, eventually, find a way to be happy with almost any situation. That's why this weird point in my life is so important--because while I know that I'll be "happy" in some way wherever I end up, I don't want to look back and wish that things had been different or that I'd had the guts to try something. If there's something that I really want to do, now's the time to figure it out and go for it, before all of the responsibilities and weights of the world that I'm bound to end up in start to wrap around my wrists and ankles and keep me in one place for the rest of my days. But half of the time, I think that to be more desirable to the alternative. The problem is, I don't really know what that alternative is. There's a million different paths, a million different destinations, and, as exciting as all of that is, it's equally as terrifying. It'd be one thing if I could just narrow it down to a few choices--I'd make a list of pros and cons or something and go from there--but there is no narrowing. If anything, the list gets broader and more extensive with each passing day. The only way I've ever been able to rule anything out is to actually try it, and there's no way that I have time to try all of these possibilities.
The problem all comes down to something very fundamental about myself: I've always had this feeling or sense of being meant for big things and that I had a special purpose and place in this world, that I was going to be different, that I was going to make a difference. While this is great because it means I've had an upbringing that reared me to expect things of myself, to have confidence, that I've had opportunities, it also sucks because it means that I'm not satisfied with the idea of a life that the majority of those around me seem to have no trouble settling into. At least not yet. Will I eventually just roll over and fall in line? That's what I've been planning. That's why I'm in school to be a high school teacher and why I'm coaching a high school baseball team and why I moved back with my parents and why I got a job at Home Depot and why I lie awake at night and can't fall asleep and why, half the time, I feel sick to my stomach.
And what really pisses me off about all of this, is that I should be grateful to have such an opportunity. This is the opportunity that my parents worked so hard to give me. An opportunity that how many people around the country, around the world, would be more than happy to have. So why can't I embrace it? Maybe one of these days, when the last shred of my youth sloughs away like a dead skin cell, I'll make something of myself.
So how about Bob Dylan's ghost pushing product along Wyclef Jean during the SuperBowl?
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