Thoughts
So Daddy and I had a great talk this past weekend. My brother too. It was reminiscent of the nights that my dad and I stayed up all night talking and listening to music. He's probably the only reason that I like songwriters like Jackson Browne. And every now and again he finds a modernish band that he enjoys. Like Counting Crows. Daddy will never listen to Ludacris or Nelley, but then, that's not my preference either. So we sat in the living room listening to ZZ Top, Jackson Brown's album "Late for the Sky" and the Counting Crow's "August and Everything After." It's these few moments when my dad mellows out enough to really TALK to my brother and I. And although I don't always like what my dad has to say, at least I know that he's completely honest. Thomas's thoughts are consumed with his upcoming college career and politics. He's going through a very republican phase right now; it's amusing. And I got a chance to talk with Daddy about my decision to join PC, which he doesn't agree with, and have my dad -- for the first time in my life -- tell me that he'd like to see me do something specific with my life. Daddy wants me to go to Law School. He was all about me signing up for the LSATs right there. But I'm nowhere near being interested in law. Which sucks. I'd like nothing more in this world to make my Daddy happy, and right now I'm feeling like I've failed him, because I'm floundering so much.
Daddy doesn't understand why I'm floundering. I'm independent, successful, intelligent, and able to claim myself on my tax returns. He thinks that PC will be a setback for me ... yeah, because I just can't handle the raging momentum of my career right now. But he's speaking from his experience in the Air Force, so I have to respect his views. But it hurts to not have his support on this. Throughout my entire life, I've always had his support with whatever I've wanted to do. He's always let me make my own decisions and my own mistakes. Like when I decided in 6th grade that I wanted to start going to church, but the church that all my friends went to was on the other side of town. Daddy never complained; and he woke up every Sunday morning and drove me there, then drove back a couple hours later to pick me up and take me home. And when I decided to join band, he bought me my flute (both of them, actually) then when high school marching band came about with all of the demands on time and money, he was always there to pick me up after practice and find some way to pay for the trips to Florida and DC and Arizona and Toronto and New York. He even supported my decision to join the Corps and then the military, although he was very relieved when my knee kept me from commissioning. Daddy is not verbose, nor is he public with his affection. He doesn't say, "I love you," out loud, but he has said it his entire life. Patiently -- and sometimes not so patiently -- teaching me math, especially fractions; or treating me like I could make my own decisions; and teaching me that being a moral person does not mean you have to be religious simply by being so.
And now I look at my life. I've done everything I was supposed to: high school, college, job, hobbies, drug free and no children. And I feel like I'm a failure because I don't know what I want to do with my life, because I hate math, and because for the first time in my life I feel like I might be making a mistake but I don't know what else to do. The truly bittersweet, sad, wondrous thing about this whole situation is that Daddy will let me go, even though he thinks it's a bad idea, and he will still love and respect me when I come home.
There have been times when I thought my dad knew me better than anyone else in the world (especially at 3 in the morning over CSNY records). So why then does Daddy want me to be a lawyer? Is it because I majored in English -- Daddy has always joked about the Liberal Arts degrees, and how they're not worth crap -- and so did his big brother, but his big brother went on to law school, so that's what I should do? Maybe Daddy sees how much I'm floundering more than anyone else does, and he wants me to have some direction -- any direction -- and this is something I could apply myself to. I look at my friends, and so many of them KNOW what they want, and are working towards a GOAL for their LIFE. Some of them may not know WHAT they want, but at least they know WHO they want. Right now I don't want anything or anyone.
I came to a revalation the other night driving home. I'm still remarkable immature. I've mentioned this to a few people, and they all exclaim, "but you're one of the most mature people I know!" And my aunt says that it takes a very mature person to realize that they are not as mature as they think they are. Which is a very paradoxical statement, yes. I'm responsible and I'm precocious, which lend themselves to the illusion of responsiblity, but I'm really still quite immature. My thoughts and my reactions belie this fact ... but to know this you would have to spend every second of every day with me, and I'm the only one who has to do that. Honestly, I wouldn't wish myself on anyone. But one of my favorite ways of looking at maturity and immaturity was put forth by JD Salinger in "The Catcher in the Rye" when one of the characters says, "The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one." That statement made such an impact on me ... it's one of the few that I can actually quote offhand.
But how to ask for forgiveness from the greatest man in the world, whom I feel like I've let down and disappointed time and time again in my life? I am 23 years old, and I can honestly not think of a single success in my life. I have never been a good enough rider for that sport to go anywhere beyond and expensive and dangerous hobby. I was not good enough at music to make that a career, which means literally thousands of dollars wasted. I failed at Biology -- well, Chemistry actually -- and I'll never get into Vet school, which means that I graduated with what amounts to an ubiqutious though unapplicable major. I failed at the military, so much so that I never even got in. And now I feel like I'm failing him again, because I can't even find something useful to do with my life. I can think of nothing for which I want to live humbly ... I still want to move mountains and touch people's lives. I want to do something great with my life, something beyond the ordinary. And I'm so scared that I am going to fail at this as well, and that I will never find contentment with the quiet, humble life I know awaits me, no matter how grand my dreams.
I really don't know why I'm keeping this journal. I'm sure there are all of 3 people who read it. It's nothing great. Why should I bother with something that is not great? Because in my twisted, overactive immagination, someday I will be a great writer, and people will be moved by my words, and they will come here to see where I began. But right now, this journal is as unfocused as the rest of my life. The writing in it isn't even that good ... I have a much better sense of style when I'm not beginning every sentence with "I".
I think I read too many novels.
Daddy doesn't understand why I'm floundering. I'm independent, successful, intelligent, and able to claim myself on my tax returns. He thinks that PC will be a setback for me ... yeah, because I just can't handle the raging momentum of my career right now. But he's speaking from his experience in the Air Force, so I have to respect his views. But it hurts to not have his support on this. Throughout my entire life, I've always had his support with whatever I've wanted to do. He's always let me make my own decisions and my own mistakes. Like when I decided in 6th grade that I wanted to start going to church, but the church that all my friends went to was on the other side of town. Daddy never complained; and he woke up every Sunday morning and drove me there, then drove back a couple hours later to pick me up and take me home. And when I decided to join band, he bought me my flute (both of them, actually) then when high school marching band came about with all of the demands on time and money, he was always there to pick me up after practice and find some way to pay for the trips to Florida and DC and Arizona and Toronto and New York. He even supported my decision to join the Corps and then the military, although he was very relieved when my knee kept me from commissioning. Daddy is not verbose, nor is he public with his affection. He doesn't say, "I love you," out loud, but he has said it his entire life. Patiently -- and sometimes not so patiently -- teaching me math, especially fractions; or treating me like I could make my own decisions; and teaching me that being a moral person does not mean you have to be religious simply by being so.
And now I look at my life. I've done everything I was supposed to: high school, college, job, hobbies, drug free and no children. And I feel like I'm a failure because I don't know what I want to do with my life, because I hate math, and because for the first time in my life I feel like I might be making a mistake but I don't know what else to do. The truly bittersweet, sad, wondrous thing about this whole situation is that Daddy will let me go, even though he thinks it's a bad idea, and he will still love and respect me when I come home.
There have been times when I thought my dad knew me better than anyone else in the world (especially at 3 in the morning over CSNY records). So why then does Daddy want me to be a lawyer? Is it because I majored in English -- Daddy has always joked about the Liberal Arts degrees, and how they're not worth crap -- and so did his big brother, but his big brother went on to law school, so that's what I should do? Maybe Daddy sees how much I'm floundering more than anyone else does, and he wants me to have some direction -- any direction -- and this is something I could apply myself to. I look at my friends, and so many of them KNOW what they want, and are working towards a GOAL for their LIFE. Some of them may not know WHAT they want, but at least they know WHO they want. Right now I don't want anything or anyone.
I came to a revalation the other night driving home. I'm still remarkable immature. I've mentioned this to a few people, and they all exclaim, "but you're one of the most mature people I know!" And my aunt says that it takes a very mature person to realize that they are not as mature as they think they are. Which is a very paradoxical statement, yes. I'm responsible and I'm precocious, which lend themselves to the illusion of responsiblity, but I'm really still quite immature. My thoughts and my reactions belie this fact ... but to know this you would have to spend every second of every day with me, and I'm the only one who has to do that. Honestly, I wouldn't wish myself on anyone. But one of my favorite ways of looking at maturity and immaturity was put forth by JD Salinger in "The Catcher in the Rye" when one of the characters says, "The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one." That statement made such an impact on me ... it's one of the few that I can actually quote offhand.
But how to ask for forgiveness from the greatest man in the world, whom I feel like I've let down and disappointed time and time again in my life? I am 23 years old, and I can honestly not think of a single success in my life. I have never been a good enough rider for that sport to go anywhere beyond and expensive and dangerous hobby. I was not good enough at music to make that a career, which means literally thousands of dollars wasted. I failed at Biology -- well, Chemistry actually -- and I'll never get into Vet school, which means that I graduated with what amounts to an ubiqutious though unapplicable major. I failed at the military, so much so that I never even got in. And now I feel like I'm failing him again, because I can't even find something useful to do with my life. I can think of nothing for which I want to live humbly ... I still want to move mountains and touch people's lives. I want to do something great with my life, something beyond the ordinary. And I'm so scared that I am going to fail at this as well, and that I will never find contentment with the quiet, humble life I know awaits me, no matter how grand my dreams.
I really don't know why I'm keeping this journal. I'm sure there are all of 3 people who read it. It's nothing great. Why should I bother with something that is not great? Because in my twisted, overactive immagination, someday I will be a great writer, and people will be moved by my words, and they will come here to see where I began. But right now, this journal is as unfocused as the rest of my life. The writing in it isn't even that good ... I have a much better sense of style when I'm not beginning every sentence with "I".
I think I read too many novels.