Skip to main content

We're Looking At The World All Wrong

I don't think it's possible to believe in goodness when you're drowning in the bad.

And I don't think it's fair for anyone to drown, especially not people who have barely know what water is, much less how to swim.

Every generation, expectations are shifted. Up or down, is up to time and chance to decide. In my parents' generation, school was for learning. Today, it's career-prep. It's college, but earlier. We are expected to know who we are, what we want to do, where we want to go.

Oftentimes, we see ourselves following our passion. But passion should be about the highs and lows, about challenging yourself when you are ready. About tying it to the rest of your life if you so choose. It shouldn't be about turning profit.

Fortunately, this system works. In literality. We need the profit to survive. Not a smile.

And frankly, I don't have a better suggestion; I just can't help but notice where we are today. And that is not where I dream of being tomorrow.

Sam
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

my dreams came true, but so did the imposter syndrome

 i've worked incredibly hard for as long as i can remember. i tried to perfect my color-by-numbers in kindergarten. i asked my grandma to help me knit an entire stuffed teddy bar as big as my torso in second grade. i practiced the multiplication tables at home in fourth grade for weeks to impress my teacher and pass the test with flying colors. there really was no reason back then. and maybe there still isn't. everyone looks for self-motivation, drive, ambition, a work ethic, the way that showdog owners look for the perfectly bred, big-eyed, curly haired puppy to groom and snip and trot to perfection.  and i had all these things–the coveted discipline and the need to pursue perfection all the time, in anything i did–because i am a showdog. i am a rat in the race, and i can't tell how early on i became this. there is nothing particularly wrong with it, because i set some goals and worked hard to achieve them. the cruel joke is that i got exactly what i wanted and i am happy,...
Post a Comment
Read more

Fridays

I've waited since last Friday for this moment. And I waited all of last week for last Friday. I tried to enjoy the weekend. Friday night was quiet. The TV was on, and I can't quite recall what Netflix was chirping at me. I was nestled in a fuzzy throw, my eyes closed, on the verge of subconscious. But the next morning, it was over. Saturday was the prelude to Sunday–which sang of the impending doom of Monday. Most Saturday mornings, I am awake at six. Creep downstairs. Shut doors gently. Watch the late autumn rain patter onto the streets as I let my eyes wander down the page of a book. Until someone else awakes, and I feel the need to do something  under the watchful eyes of productive members of society. And in that moment, my Saturday is already lost.  I live Sundays in fear of the week. School, homework, not being able to have those moments on the couch, with the television to myself. Waking up early because I have to, not because I want to. Waking to the thought of submis...
Post a Comment
Read more

Chapter 7: A Mad Tea-Party

I'm sitting at the dinner table, my fingers waiting on the keyboard. Not resting. Not sitting. Not poised, preparing for a rapid flow of beautiful words to spring out and blossom. Just waiting. Because frankly - I've never been good with introductions. I can say "hello" just fine - don't get me wrong. I can wave and smile and nod at my uncle's-second-cousin-twice-removed's-grandniece's-friend's-mother's-babysitter. (If you're curious where you would ever meet such a person, weddings are a good place to start. Or perhaps funerals. Or Costco. In my experience, Costco has everything. ) I can perform the superficial introduction, but I can never quite connect. Express. Understand that person, or have them understand me. And therein lies the issue. I'm sitting at a dinner table, my fingers waiting on the keyboard. Attempting to introduce myself not to some oddly specific relation, but to everyone and no one. To the fantastical, e...
Post a Comment
Read more