So we have it. I've broken down-- pause while I blow the incense smoke away from the smoke detector (I've been paranoid about that recently) --and here I feel like I don't have anyone to really tell everything to. So why not the internet? That makes more sense. But there's always that anonymous aspect to it that I find more appealing than sitting someone down and really pouring my heart out to them. I get a little off my chest here and there when I'm good and stoned and sitting around in the Cherokee philosophizing about our role as coffeeshop employees.
I've only just started writing and I'm already losing interest. That's the problem, I think. I don't know what I want to do right now, anyway. I could work on the novel, on the poster, on some other creative endeavor I've set out to never accomplish. Fingers crossed that I finish the novel. I've never felt as sure about something as that--but I think that's what I said about a few of my recent projects. Who am I kidding anyway? Yesterday I was talking to Bryce about how I've always had this weird idea that life was going to work itself out on its own-- that one day I would suddenly be that successful author (or successful something, at least) and have that American dream lifestyle that's been subconsciously promised to me throughout my media-driven upbringing. I've never really doubted that notion until recently. Until I started to grow up.
I am that slacker college student. I really am. I smoke all the time. I panic when I'm low. I am surprised when I hang out sober with my friends. I work at a privately owned coffee shop in a small Northern California town outside of San Francisco. My town is called Santa Rosa and you could say that it's technically a city, but to me the only City is San Francisco. My grades in college reflect my opinion of college. But at least I'm going. If I want that American Dream, I know that I have to finish college to stay in the game. Too many of my coworkers skipped that step and I feel like [metaphor warning] some of their motivational mouses have stopped running their wheels, while I still get that nagging bite of the one inside my brain that keeps me going to classes and passing tests and giving speeches, even though I'm barely learning anything.
That's a picture of my favorite sweater, which I made for myself, which might give an example of my sense of humor. Maybe. I laugh at anything. No kidding. I think it's like having some girl walk by with really nice perfume and how that smell makes you feel-- that's what it's like to be able to observe life and laugh at it. Laugh at anything. In the middle of a hectic rush of customers, when I've got like ten drinks on the line and the fucking Mocha Frio won't blend-- I like to reverse any sort of incoming stress and cope with the ridiculousness of the situation and embrace it. Life is a trip. Don't fight it.
If you're not good at laughing at nothing, then look at the things you overlook. Take a look at what you're doing with your hands, with your thoughts, or what you do every day, your habits and hobbies, or look at the people you hang out with and think about who they are, or think of something crazy you'd rather be doing. Why is anything happening at all? What keeps the stoplights changing? What keeps the earth spinning? Why-oh-why does everything exist in the first place? Laugh about how bizarre everything is when you try and make sense of it. Who you are. Where you're going. What the rest of your life has in store.
How small you are in this universe shows you how little of an impact you will make in the big picture. I take comfort in that. That means there's no expectations. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. This is my one life and no one really gives a fuck about my life because they're too busy thinking about their lives-- so as long as we coexist harmoniously, I think we're all gonna be fine. What I really want to do is not a whole lot. I just want to be happy and comfortable.
Will I get the American Dream? Each passing day gives me less hope. I'm only 21 and I know that I'll be holding onto the careless days of my youth because this is the only time in my life when I think it'll be okay to be who I am. I sense an approaching wall, of course. I've known that all along. I'll get started with a career soon enough. I'll climb the corporate ladder of some company. That's the worker bee route toward the American Dream. It's basically the "if you can't beat them, join them" mentality, but applied alongside my knowing that having money is a hundred percent better than not having money. And I've only seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to low-income living and debt. I've got it good compared to others. And I know that. And I appreciate that. I don't try and be anything I'm not. I know my role as the 21 year old college senior. I know what I'm doing.
And now I've grown bored. But I'll save this anyway. For the record books.
I've only just started writing and I'm already losing interest. That's the problem, I think. I don't know what I want to do right now, anyway. I could work on the novel, on the poster, on some other creative endeavor I've set out to never accomplish. Fingers crossed that I finish the novel. I've never felt as sure about something as that--but I think that's what I said about a few of my recent projects. Who am I kidding anyway? Yesterday I was talking to Bryce about how I've always had this weird idea that life was going to work itself out on its own-- that one day I would suddenly be that successful author (or successful something, at least) and have that American dream lifestyle that's been subconsciously promised to me throughout my media-driven upbringing. I've never really doubted that notion until recently. Until I started to grow up.
I am that slacker college student. I really am. I smoke all the time. I panic when I'm low. I am surprised when I hang out sober with my friends. I work at a privately owned coffee shop in a small Northern California town outside of San Francisco. My town is called Santa Rosa and you could say that it's technically a city, but to me the only City is San Francisco. My grades in college reflect my opinion of college. But at least I'm going. If I want that American Dream, I know that I have to finish college to stay in the game. Too many of my coworkers skipped that step and I feel like [metaphor warning] some of their motivational mouses have stopped running their wheels, while I still get that nagging bite of the one inside my brain that keeps me going to classes and passing tests and giving speeches, even though I'm barely learning anything.
That's a picture of my favorite sweater, which I made for myself, which might give an example of my sense of humor. Maybe. I laugh at anything. No kidding. I think it's like having some girl walk by with really nice perfume and how that smell makes you feel-- that's what it's like to be able to observe life and laugh at it. Laugh at anything. In the middle of a hectic rush of customers, when I've got like ten drinks on the line and the fucking Mocha Frio won't blend-- I like to reverse any sort of incoming stress and cope with the ridiculousness of the situation and embrace it. Life is a trip. Don't fight it.
If you're not good at laughing at nothing, then look at the things you overlook. Take a look at what you're doing with your hands, with your thoughts, or what you do every day, your habits and hobbies, or look at the people you hang out with and think about who they are, or think of something crazy you'd rather be doing. Why is anything happening at all? What keeps the stoplights changing? What keeps the earth spinning? Why-oh-why does everything exist in the first place? Laugh about how bizarre everything is when you try and make sense of it. Who you are. Where you're going. What the rest of your life has in store.
How small you are in this universe shows you how little of an impact you will make in the big picture. I take comfort in that. That means there's no expectations. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. This is my one life and no one really gives a fuck about my life because they're too busy thinking about their lives-- so as long as we coexist harmoniously, I think we're all gonna be fine. What I really want to do is not a whole lot. I just want to be happy and comfortable.
Will I get the American Dream? Each passing day gives me less hope. I'm only 21 and I know that I'll be holding onto the careless days of my youth because this is the only time in my life when I think it'll be okay to be who I am. I sense an approaching wall, of course. I've known that all along. I'll get started with a career soon enough. I'll climb the corporate ladder of some company. That's the worker bee route toward the American Dream. It's basically the "if you can't beat them, join them" mentality, but applied alongside my knowing that having money is a hundred percent better than not having money. And I've only seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to low-income living and debt. I've got it good compared to others. And I know that. And I appreciate that. I don't try and be anything I'm not. I know my role as the 21 year old college senior. I know what I'm doing.
And now I've grown bored. But I'll save this anyway. For the record books.
1 Responses (Leave a Comment):
I always thought that too. It's nice to know I'm not the only one.
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