fan of a life
It's nice if you have fans in the world. People who are proud of you and what you do. But ultimately it's really just you that has to live it, to be happy with it. So even if that admiration, support, and pride may not come from others, I suppose what really counts is that you have pride in what you do for yourself.
I sometimes crave that "pat on the head" feeling of someone saying you're doing well. I don't exactly know why I have to be that way. I've read books and listened to speakers say it's my generation; the ME generation has been told since its birth that we're good kids, we're special, we can do anything. Reality is slowly setting in and it's not quite so fluffy and nice. It stings a little you could say, this bit of adulthood. Strange for me to say, since I've always thought of myself of fiercely independent and I couldn't wait to grow up, still can't wait to grow up. But it's not always so liberating. You could say it's really just a little lonely. And a bit of a disappointment. But that's one explanation. Some could say it's my upbringing; you're a product of your parents. Mine are not so bad. They give my siblings and I what they can; provide us with all the necessities and plenty of the luxuries in life. They weren't the most emotional or empathetic parents in the world. But they're better than many. I guess finally you could say it's my own interpretations of the world, my own over-dramatic thoughts and feelings. I wish I could change them, but it's hard, it really is. Maybe it all ties in.
But ultimately, it is my own life. I need to be happy with it myself and then it won't really matter if others are happy or proud of me. I'll be happy for myself, which is worth more anyways.
I sometimes crave that "pat on the head" feeling of someone saying you're doing well. I don't exactly know why I have to be that way. I've read books and listened to speakers say it's my generation; the ME generation has been told since its birth that we're good kids, we're special, we can do anything. Reality is slowly setting in and it's not quite so fluffy and nice. It stings a little you could say, this bit of adulthood. Strange for me to say, since I've always thought of myself of fiercely independent and I couldn't wait to grow up, still can't wait to grow up. But it's not always so liberating. You could say it's really just a little lonely. And a bit of a disappointment. But that's one explanation. Some could say it's my upbringing; you're a product of your parents. Mine are not so bad. They give my siblings and I what they can; provide us with all the necessities and plenty of the luxuries in life. They weren't the most emotional or empathetic parents in the world. But they're better than many. I guess finally you could say it's my own interpretations of the world, my own over-dramatic thoughts and feelings. I wish I could change them, but it's hard, it really is. Maybe it all ties in.
But ultimately, it is my own life. I need to be happy with it myself and then it won't really matter if others are happy or proud of me. I'll be happy for myself, which is worth more anyways.