I’m a poet, and I’m here to share my soul with the world and give them a glimpse of the beauty and the glory of my vision (not to sound too self important), I’m not here to solve problems or make things work. I am here to change hearts and minds, especially to soften and open them towards the new, the different, and never to forget the poor and the outcast.
It becomes pretty clear as I’m trying to do this finance assignment. Yes, there are a lot of things I can do, but writing, speaking, changing the world- that’s what I want to do. And I know I’ll succeed if I give it a shot, somehow I’ll succeed even if only in a small way. Sometimes I think keeping this blog is the most important thing I do, for both myself and the world. But that would be discounting kissing my mother, doing the dishes to help out, and generally being present to the people who are important in my life.
The desire to make an impact and appreciate all the world’s wonders has taken me far from my family, literally and figuratively. It has also in some ways complicated the quest for love. I think a lot about how to change the world to accomodate family and meaning and morals better, and sometimes I ignore it myself. I’m not proud of how many times I use my computer to escape into myself, and how little I feel like I do to appreciate my wonderful parents and family. I really don’t have anything to complain about. Sometimes, especially with the whole teen and early twenties thing and high need for stimulation, it’s just easier to retreat into myself and read a book or something instead of being in the hustle bustle of my super extroverted family. Sure, maybe I do have that quieter side especially in that company, but I don’t want to use technology to escape from something I think is the most important thing in life. Thank you, “This is 40” for mirroring our lives (I hope not).
It’s amazing how much time and energy I spend thinking about the family I want and the career and life choices that will get me there and how important this decade is to the rest of my life. I read a book all about how instead of just having fun, nannying, backpacking across Europe, and living at home, the 20s can and should be about setting a course for life, and being prepared when the settling urge strikes.
I’m not the person I was a year ago. I don’t want the same things. I think the marginal utility of traveling (to an extent) and other “being young” things does decrease over time.
I’m so afraid of skipping a step and missing out. I feel like this procrastination over the finance project is really the part of me still resentful that the whole working hard, doing tons of extracurriculars, taking on debt to go to a good school, and then succeeding there didn’t land me anything like a dream job. I’m actually learning something from this project, even if not directly in line with the kind of work more in public policy where I see myself, but in general I don’t feel from every business school class that I learn how to think anybody or even really process the material. So the whole intrinsic desire to learn is actually kind of thwarted and disappointed while the “why the hell am I doing this” part of my brain isn’t satisfied either.
Maybe it’s all bullshit, the idea that if you don’t do it now you will never do it. People still party hard in their 40s if that’s what they want you to do, and no one ever forces you to settle down. My solitary adventures almost seem like something I’ve grown out of, and my heart has just opened up so wide I know I can’t go back to my former life, no matter how much “fun’ it might have been, or how much fun I think I shold be having. What is fun, anyway?
Fun was once a backpacking trip by myself. Meeting new people, being lonely, dreaming of my impossible crush, thinking of how it would be not to be alone. But so free, so peaceful. Really savoring every moment, and knowing it might not come again. telling myself next time I came here it would be with someone special. Seeing the top of the mountain, the aha moment, having it all to myself. And wanting someone to share it with. Now I’m afraid of letting someone see it with me- what if they don’t like it as much? What if I don’t always like them as much and the place, the memory is marred? What if I become less me? What if I stop being able to take care of myself? What if I’ve chosen the wrong person, the wrong place, the wrong time?
I could say the same thing for a job, or a community I’ve chosen to be part of. Anything where you don’t leave on a whim, can’t leave on a whim, because you’ve put roots down. Roots can be plural, and spread out, but you are no longer a sapling. Maybe your location, your situatioed ness isn this ride through space and time was chosen long before your birth, as the winds of destiny blew what was not even you (or was it?) into that place in the into that place just for you in the fabric of time.
It’s hard to know what we’re here for. It’s like asking, why was I born with this name instead of another one? could I have different parents, a brother instead of a sister, another sister? How would my life be different, how would I be different? Why was he the guy I ran into that night, and not some other one? Why did the guy who seemed to fit the bill not work out, where I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around this guy I wasn’t looking for, at a time I didn’t think I should be looking.
Well, I don’t have the answers, and I don’t have any knowable, epistemologically verfiable truth. But I do have a feeling, a good feeling…