Calm Down Sir, We're Professionals
Being the ego-maniacal jerk that I am, I feel there are a few things that I know that you don't. For that matter, I feel there are lots of things that I do better than everyone else and that I'm somehow smugly superior. Thinking things like that is one thing. It generally gets you labels like douche, egotist, prick, etc. But being told you're emotionally and psychologically years ahead of where you should be and that yours is the life-outlook that myriads of people strive for, by no less than someone with a masters in psychology and years of pyschiatric practice and hundreds of patients... well, that's a little different.
Let me come down from my soap box for a minute and relay my experience. I transfered to a new college, thinking I would be a mathematics teacher. It hasn't been long, but that's definately not what I intend to major in anymore. Not that I know what I intend to major in, I've had opinions from parents, friends, and professional opinionated-peoples and the results always vary. Who knows what I'll end up doing. The real problem is that I have no passion for a single endeavor. There's no one thing in my life that I can point to and say, "Yes, that's why I get up in the morning, and that's the reason I exist." That, in and of itself, is wholly unremarkable, the interesting part is my approach to the situation, one of blissful indifference. Not apathy, I'm not depressed, or planning on becoming a nihilist, I'm just entirely okay with the idea of living the 'mundane' existence.
Maybe that makes me weird, crazy, or otherwise non-perfect.
But not according to the shrink...
Let me come down from my soap box for a minute and relay my experience. I transfered to a new college, thinking I would be a mathematics teacher. It hasn't been long, but that's definately not what I intend to major in anymore. Not that I know what I intend to major in, I've had opinions from parents, friends, and professional opinionated-peoples and the results always vary. Who knows what I'll end up doing. The real problem is that I have no passion for a single endeavor. There's no one thing in my life that I can point to and say, "Yes, that's why I get up in the morning, and that's the reason I exist." That, in and of itself, is wholly unremarkable, the interesting part is my approach to the situation, one of blissful indifference. Not apathy, I'm not depressed, or planning on becoming a nihilist, I'm just entirely okay with the idea of living the 'mundane' existence.
Maybe that makes me weird, crazy, or otherwise non-perfect.
But not according to the shrink...