It's tough
So I got a job. Good one, too, keeping up with what I've been doing, right in the area I need to be doing it. I've got this and that girl interested in me and there seems to be no shortage of ladies to chase and catch. Soon I'll be free of this apartment in the middle of nowhere and my roommate who could serve as the poster-boy for antisociality, passive aggressiveness and narcissism all at once. I'll be travelling to a new city filled with new people, new opportunity and a fresh start.
So why am I so sad?
Well, to start with the concrete things, this job involves me working in a city I never wanted to live in. Shit, I even had fantasies of living in Indianapolis, but DC? When I think DC I think the Washington Monument. Any city with a gigantic white phallus jammed into the middle of it is not a city I want to be spending much of my time. It's true I know nothing about it and it might be a lot of fun...but it's not NYC. And NYC is, by any standard, strictly better.
Second, having sex with girls is great, whoo hoo, yippee. But it doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I would trade a hundred different one night stands for one movie night with a girl I'm really into and who I have some kind of future with. It's just true. Falling asleep in front of the TV under a blanket and snoring on each other is so much more appealing than sweaty stranger-sex.
Let's qualify that by saying I AM getting laid, so it's entirely possible this is just a "the grass is always greener" type thing. Meaning, if I was dry, I'd probably be up for trading members of my family for a sloppy quickie.
But yes, I don't have that. All I have is these girls I'm lukewarm about. And the last girl I felt strongly for stopped talking to me as soon as she found a new boyfriend. It makes me mad at relationships in general.
And, I guess most importantly, I'm not sure where I'm going. I could still pursue the PhD and I probably will get it with enough persistence, but I'm not even sure it's what I want. I don't know if it's the life for me. At this point, I would assume that I would be at least on the start of having a family by the time I finish my PhD. That means being in school when I should be embarking on being an adult. It's not how I envisioned things.
But then again, I tend not to envision things right. I mean, take me 5 years ago and I would have assumed I was going into an English PhD, becoming a writer and professor, having some kids at 30-something and just living it all out to its end. I had no intention of working in a cubicle, no intention of putting off school, no intention of psychology, medical, anything like this.
But I also don't want to say that it's all part of growing up. I don't want to tame the grandiosity of my dreams. I don't want to give up my imagination. I want to keep that childish naivte. I've cherished it for so long, it's so hard to let it go. I don't want to admit to myself that something is out of reach. That I need to settle. That not all dreams come true.
I've watched the landscape of my romanticism whittled away to an island. And I let it all crumble, because I knew it had to. But I never wanted to be entirely underwater. I never wanted to coast. I made mistakes, of course, but I always believed it would work out in the end.
I keep thinking of the Neverending story with this metaphor. The little grain of sand that grows with wishes.
And maybe that's it. Maybe I need to keep it alive. Just ride what I have left into its conclusion, knowing that if I work hard, if I keep pummeling away, everything will work out right in the end. I'll be happy. I'll have a happy family. I'll make other people happy. And I'll end my life knowing that there could have been other ends for me, but this is mine. I spent a lifetime earning it and I'll own it. Because I did what I thought was right and I stuck to my possibility.
Maybe I'll never be a household name. But I don't think I ever really believed that was a worthwhile goal.
So why am I so sad?
Well, to start with the concrete things, this job involves me working in a city I never wanted to live in. Shit, I even had fantasies of living in Indianapolis, but DC? When I think DC I think the Washington Monument. Any city with a gigantic white phallus jammed into the middle of it is not a city I want to be spending much of my time. It's true I know nothing about it and it might be a lot of fun...but it's not NYC. And NYC is, by any standard, strictly better.
Second, having sex with girls is great, whoo hoo, yippee. But it doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I would trade a hundred different one night stands for one movie night with a girl I'm really into and who I have some kind of future with. It's just true. Falling asleep in front of the TV under a blanket and snoring on each other is so much more appealing than sweaty stranger-sex.
Let's qualify that by saying I AM getting laid, so it's entirely possible this is just a "the grass is always greener" type thing. Meaning, if I was dry, I'd probably be up for trading members of my family for a sloppy quickie.
But yes, I don't have that. All I have is these girls I'm lukewarm about. And the last girl I felt strongly for stopped talking to me as soon as she found a new boyfriend. It makes me mad at relationships in general.
And, I guess most importantly, I'm not sure where I'm going. I could still pursue the PhD and I probably will get it with enough persistence, but I'm not even sure it's what I want. I don't know if it's the life for me. At this point, I would assume that I would be at least on the start of having a family by the time I finish my PhD. That means being in school when I should be embarking on being an adult. It's not how I envisioned things.
But then again, I tend not to envision things right. I mean, take me 5 years ago and I would have assumed I was going into an English PhD, becoming a writer and professor, having some kids at 30-something and just living it all out to its end. I had no intention of working in a cubicle, no intention of putting off school, no intention of psychology, medical, anything like this.
But I also don't want to say that it's all part of growing up. I don't want to tame the grandiosity of my dreams. I don't want to give up my imagination. I want to keep that childish naivte. I've cherished it for so long, it's so hard to let it go. I don't want to admit to myself that something is out of reach. That I need to settle. That not all dreams come true.
I've watched the landscape of my romanticism whittled away to an island. And I let it all crumble, because I knew it had to. But I never wanted to be entirely underwater. I never wanted to coast. I made mistakes, of course, but I always believed it would work out in the end.
I keep thinking of the Neverending story with this metaphor. The little grain of sand that grows with wishes.
And maybe that's it. Maybe I need to keep it alive. Just ride what I have left into its conclusion, knowing that if I work hard, if I keep pummeling away, everything will work out right in the end. I'll be happy. I'll have a happy family. I'll make other people happy. And I'll end my life knowing that there could have been other ends for me, but this is mine. I spent a lifetime earning it and I'll own it. Because I did what I thought was right and I stuck to my possibility.
Maybe I'll never be a household name. But I don't think I ever really believed that was a worthwhile goal.