it is time to doubt

She felt, sometimes, most times, occasionally, as if she had perhaps wasted her life. What else could you call it really? Although, it wasn't like she was a hairdresser or something, but honestly, was a career (if you could even call it that) as a book editor really that much more noble? It wasn't as though she had accomplished anything substantial that moved the world, or even one person's life, in a more positive direction.

The kicker of it was that as a child she had felt, even believed, with everything she'd had that she was destined for something special. Maybe not something as great as being President, or a surgeon, or an Olympic athlete or anything like that, but maybe the CEO of a non-profit that helped urban kids get a leg up, or a well-known (if not world renowned) artist or a more than mildly successful author. Of course, she imagined that every child felt this way growing up. Maybe not. Perhaps those inner-city kids didn't feel that there was anything remarkable about them, but she felt that most people who were products of a suburban, white, middle-class upbringing grew up thinking that they would somehow make a difference. When in reality they became, like she had, a suburban, white, middle-class adult, with their dreams and fantasies squashed, shoved and crumpled into a dimly lit corner of their brains, where they could ignore them and pretend that they were living the lives that they'd always wanted. Mediocre lives filled with trips to the grocery store and endless hours spent in front of whatever ridiculous, idiotic, half-baked shows were currently draining anything of substance from the minds of people throughout every suburb in every city on the face of God's green Earth.

She couldn't even really pin it down. The exact moment when she had given up. She remembered college as a time of open-eyed wonder and hopefulness about a future filled with a life worth living. Instead, somewhere along the way, she had ended up here. Single—she couldn't even be one of those people who could brag about bringing a remarkable person into the world—and extremely dissatisfied. Somewhere along the way she had sold her dreams for a Volvo and a townhome and two cats and a weekend ski pass. She felt so mired down by it all that she couldn't even begin to imagine how to change any of it either. When you're almost 50 is it even worth trying to morph into something else? To suddenly change lanes and head to that mysterious, unknown place on the map the old explorers labeled, 'Here Be Dragons'? Or was it better to just simply meander on until she ended up decrepit and alone and drooling on her shirt in a retirement home?


Jeannette said...

su goy!

that's very relatable.

so what does she do? what crazy scam does she cook up?

d said...

bless you.

i don't know. she hasn't told me yet.