I’ve been awake for fourteen hours, and I have yet to accomplish a single thing on my latest TO-DO LIST, which, by the way, is dramatically titled, “FUCK THIS: THE LAST IRRELEVANT WEEKS OF HELL”. But that’s the thing…these next two and a half weeks are anything but irrelevant. I still need to pass two of my three classes in order to graduate (without honors) from an institution that I have grown to loathe more with each passing day.
My brain is already on summer vacation. And my summer vacation, depending on the day, and my mood, either feels like a blissful respite from these last seventeen years of school, or, an indefinite, painful symbol of my complete inability to claw my way into the work force.
I switch so manically between these two emotions that I’ve come to fear a locked room with padded walls, which would, admittedly, be sad, but would also make my post-grad plans ironically irrelevant.
In the last month, I have experienced more rejection that I have in my entire life (one post-grad publishing program, and approximately eighty-five jobs, if you must know). And as I look at my enviable resume, I am perplexed by, just, what more could I have done? But I am also faced with my somewhat inexplicable privilege, my frustration that I am not prepared for this rejection, precisely because I have never experienced it before.
When I see that someone I know has gotten a job, or has been accepted to school, or has some semblance of a plan, I am never happy for them. Instead, I am jealous. I am furious. Why not me? Congratulations on your success, but you can go fuck yourself now. It’s petty and inhuman.
Why didn’t I study harder? Why didn’t I go to a better college? Why didn’t I make more friends? Why didn’t I go out more? Why didn’t I decide to become an engineer? If only I was just a little skinner, a little prettier, a little smarter, a little braver, a little stronger. Maybe everything would have turned out better. But it’s too late for me now, too late to go back and fix the lengthy list of my mistakes. It’s over. I have failed.
Yes, I have bad days, and on those days I have moments of regret, of anger, of envy, of fear, of hopelessness.
But on most days, I remember this: We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time.
Most days, I am faced with an almost Odyssean level of hubris, so great is my belief in my own greatness. I am here to do incredible things. Equally monumental is my naiveté, my blind faith in fate and destiny, and my complete certainty that everything will be alright, that I will find my path, that I will have everything I have always wanted.
I believe that reaching too high and too far can be a good thing. I believe that, sometimes, jealousy is a great motivator. I believe that success is the best revenge. I believe that I’m allowed to be materialistic every once in a while.
I accept that I have made mistakes. I accept that I am not always a good person. I accept that I will fail, and fail spectacularly. I accept that I will likely be unemployed for months and months. I accept that I may never write a book, or a screenplay, or win an Oscar. I accept that I may never be a person with vision.
What I will never accept is an ordinary life, and hopefully that will make all the difference.
