more terrible rants
Ah so here I am again. It’s been nice to have time to think, time to reassess, time to breathe. I get so fed up with myself when I’m able to actually stop and take a look around instead of the usual. The Usual: go here, go there. Do this and that, meeting this deadline, print this photo, call this person, go to this meeting, meet this client, write this progress note, go, go, go. Read this article, write this essay. Read, write, read, write. Now it’s: sleep, talk, breathe, laugh, fun, family.
I’ve been in a terrible neurotic funk inside of my head lately, thinking about what an absolutely horrible ingrate I am. Wondering what my family really thinks about me, that maybe I am a typical product of America, expecting things to fall at my feet. My sight is clouded by my own stubbornness and until I step out of this cloud, into fresh otherness, I can see really, I am quite possibly a wasteful carriage of blood and guts.
I suppose I’m looking at my life in NY, and how I’m dealing with my lonesome-ness and adjustment to a new city and way of life. I’m drowning myself in consumerism, which is easy to do in a city such as NY, when you step off the subway and are immediately bombarded with the sparkling shiny-ness of it all. Dancing, Shopping, Drunking, Fucking, Take, Take, Take. I am my own worst enemy. I scoff at hipster junkies and trust fund undergrads, but really what makes me any different? Because I’ve been to Africa? Because I think what I create has value? Because I think I am “enlightened” or “educated” about international development, responsible media, foreign aid, culture, art, psychology? I want to turn around and slap myself, who the fuck do you think you are? You think you are really something, don’t you? Well, let me write you a reality check and help you off that horse of yours…
Really, I have to continually remind myself that I am essentially a speck of dust on the entire lot of things, and really own the fact that I am a vessel of god’s grace, and I must continually walk in grace and humility.
I really am just such a frightened small girl. Very small, only wanting to love and be loved.
I’ve been in a terrible neurotic funk inside of my head lately, thinking about what an absolutely horrible ingrate I am. Wondering what my family really thinks about me, that maybe I am a typical product of America, expecting things to fall at my feet. My sight is clouded by my own stubbornness and until I step out of this cloud, into fresh otherness, I can see really, I am quite possibly a wasteful carriage of blood and guts.
I suppose I’m looking at my life in NY, and how I’m dealing with my lonesome-ness and adjustment to a new city and way of life. I’m drowning myself in consumerism, which is easy to do in a city such as NY, when you step off the subway and are immediately bombarded with the sparkling shiny-ness of it all. Dancing, Shopping, Drunking, Fucking, Take, Take, Take. I am my own worst enemy. I scoff at hipster junkies and trust fund undergrads, but really what makes me any different? Because I’ve been to Africa? Because I think what I create has value? Because I think I am “enlightened” or “educated” about international development, responsible media, foreign aid, culture, art, psychology? I want to turn around and slap myself, who the fuck do you think you are? You think you are really something, don’t you? Well, let me write you a reality check and help you off that horse of yours…
Really, I have to continually remind myself that I am essentially a speck of dust on the entire lot of things, and really own the fact that I am a vessel of god’s grace, and I must continually walk in grace and humility.
I really am just such a frightened small girl. Very small, only wanting to love and be loved.