For a good, long time, I have lived with the crippling disappointment that real (read: "adult") life does not conform with my expectations. Only today I realized just how far back this problem stretches and consequently, where it began. It occurs to me, somewhat obviously, that this time was perhaps time spent better appreciating what I HAD than yearning for something else, something bigger, something that even today has not appeared... and will never appear.
I reap life's rewards in the same way that everyone does: I witness the benefits of hard work and enjoy the leisure of a day of rest. But somehow, from somewhere, came the expectation that my life ought to be one grandiose adventure. More than that, this adventure would come upon me, rather than me upon it, as if I were a chosen pilgrim on a sacred path.
Ironically, this dream is quite the opposite of my approach to reality. Not that I'm lazy... but quite to the contrary, I'm controlling and driven. I don't know if I *could* let life take the reigns were I to find myself in the middle of the biggest adventure. But still, I feel I'm entitled to be something MORE than ordinary.
( Continue...)
I know where this feeling comes from. It's the life I lived as a child, vested in a fantasy so real that I could have sworn I WAS a changeling. I thought myself special, not just in an "I'm smarter than you" sense but really Special. To make a long story short, my best friend and I believed that we were two chosen members of a triad designed to rid the world of the blackness that possessed it. We called this demon, representative of all banality, simply "It." (I should note that yes, Stephen King's "It" freaked me the heck out.)
Despite being entangled in such a complex fantasy I was, nevertheless, satisfied with my lot in life. Presumably *because* I knew I was Special. Ironically, as part of the dream, my friend and I could never visualize ourselves living beyond the age of nineteen, probably because adult life was far to banal and separate from us. Yet we continued to age and, to our disappointment, survived being killed by any monstrous onslaught that might destroy us in a blaze of glory.
At fifteen, I still believed our 'History.' At fifteen, I was also told by my parents that we were moving from Michigan to Seattle. The move became a right of passage, iconic to me of the transition between "past" and "future." I wrote in my journal at the time:
I can see my past stretched out behind me, perfect snapshots in a sepia tone. And my future stretches before me, shining and golden.
The spring before I moved hung in perfect bliss, poised on the fulcrum of change. It was the last time anything ever felt good enough.
Seattle was nothing like what I expected. I was more than disappointed; I fell into a profound depression. What was left of my dream self was dealt the fatal blow that would, many years later, finally kill it for good. I began to vehemently believe in 'the future' and how things would get better... but at the same time, a dark seed of doubt planted itself in me, that maybe, nothing would ever be good enough again.
Naturally, my life has never again been the same as my childhood. In fact, it feels a separate life entirely and I have a very difficult time placing myself into any event that occurred before I was fifteen. I still feel I am two different people, me before and me after. The person I became "after" is more self-confident but also more self conscious, someone who speaks easily but is hard to soften up. This "me" does not make friends easily, and often expects too much of people. And rather than experiencing a sense of possibility in life, I feel that the world is my adversary.
Since the schism in my life, I'd be hard pressed to find a time when I ever felt truly satisfied. That's not to say I haven't been happy... I did pull myself out of that dark place, though I've revisited it several times. I function normally, even above average, if I flatter myself. But I still feel lacking in an odd, haunting way. Out of place. Not good enough. Too average. Less than magickal.
Post-grad life has been nightmarish for me for this very reason. Not only is my classical education over, I'm now expected to pick a life path. I'm expected to be judged. And I find myself entirely mortal and entirely disappointed. Where is my grand battle? Who recognizes me as one who once fought evil?
I want to learn to enjoy the "everyday." I want to be happy with who I am... you know, really, as a normal, mortal person instead of as some superhuman ideal. I want to wake up in the morning and not think "ugh" at the prospect of a normal, working life in a normal city. I want these things and I know, practically, how to work on achieving them.
I have a supreme entitlement complex, the psychologists could say. I believe DSM IV has a perfect diagnosis for my childhood mental state. I'm still confused. Rather than accepting my life, I'd prefer to be spirited away. I just don't think that will happen. Instead, maybe I'll make a new version of what's "good enough."
Posted on November 08, 2005 @ 6:09 PM | 2 comments
I reap life's rewards in the same way that everyone does: I witness the benefits of hard work and enjoy the leisure of a day of rest. But somehow, from somewhere, came the expectation that my life ought to be one grandiose adventure. More than that, this adventure would come upon me, rather than me upon it, as if I were a chosen pilgrim on a sacred path.
Ironically, this dream is quite the opposite of my approach to reality. Not that I'm lazy... but quite to the contrary, I'm controlling and driven. I don't know if I *could* let life take the reigns were I to find myself in the middle of the biggest adventure. But still, I feel I'm entitled to be something MORE than ordinary.
( Continue...)
I know where this feeling comes from. It's the life I lived as a child, vested in a fantasy so real that I could have sworn I WAS a changeling. I thought myself special, not just in an "I'm smarter than you" sense but really Special. To make a long story short, my best friend and I believed that we were two chosen members of a triad designed to rid the world of the blackness that possessed it. We called this demon, representative of all banality, simply "It." (I should note that yes, Stephen King's "It" freaked me the heck out.)
Despite being entangled in such a complex fantasy I was, nevertheless, satisfied with my lot in life. Presumably *because* I knew I was Special. Ironically, as part of the dream, my friend and I could never visualize ourselves living beyond the age of nineteen, probably because adult life was far to banal and separate from us. Yet we continued to age and, to our disappointment, survived being killed by any monstrous onslaught that might destroy us in a blaze of glory.
At fifteen, I still believed our 'History.' At fifteen, I was also told by my parents that we were moving from Michigan to Seattle. The move became a right of passage, iconic to me of the transition between "past" and "future." I wrote in my journal at the time:
I can see my past stretched out behind me, perfect snapshots in a sepia tone. And my future stretches before me, shining and golden.
The spring before I moved hung in perfect bliss, poised on the fulcrum of change. It was the last time anything ever felt good enough.
Seattle was nothing like what I expected. I was more than disappointed; I fell into a profound depression. What was left of my dream self was dealt the fatal blow that would, many years later, finally kill it for good. I began to vehemently believe in 'the future' and how things would get better... but at the same time, a dark seed of doubt planted itself in me, that maybe, nothing would ever be good enough again.
Naturally, my life has never again been the same as my childhood. In fact, it feels a separate life entirely and I have a very difficult time placing myself into any event that occurred before I was fifteen. I still feel I am two different people, me before and me after. The person I became "after" is more self-confident but also more self conscious, someone who speaks easily but is hard to soften up. This "me" does not make friends easily, and often expects too much of people. And rather than experiencing a sense of possibility in life, I feel that the world is my adversary.
Since the schism in my life, I'd be hard pressed to find a time when I ever felt truly satisfied. That's not to say I haven't been happy... I did pull myself out of that dark place, though I've revisited it several times. I function normally, even above average, if I flatter myself. But I still feel lacking in an odd, haunting way. Out of place. Not good enough. Too average. Less than magickal.
Post-grad life has been nightmarish for me for this very reason. Not only is my classical education over, I'm now expected to pick a life path. I'm expected to be judged. And I find myself entirely mortal and entirely disappointed. Where is my grand battle? Who recognizes me as one who once fought evil?
I want to learn to enjoy the "everyday." I want to be happy with who I am... you know, really, as a normal, mortal person instead of as some superhuman ideal. I want to wake up in the morning and not think "ugh" at the prospect of a normal, working life in a normal city. I want these things and I know, practically, how to work on achieving them.
I have a supreme entitlement complex, the psychologists could say. I believe DSM IV has a perfect diagnosis for my childhood mental state. I'm still confused. Rather than accepting my life, I'd prefer to be spirited away. I just don't think that will happen. Instead, maybe I'll make a new version of what's "good enough."
Posted on November 08, 2005 @ 6:09 PM | 2 comments
Comments:
It's possible to do both at the same time ;)
Just look at any superhero... mild mannered salary-person by day, crime fighter by night. Trying schedule though, hope you don't like your sleep too much.
Seriously, though, I have (as you might imagine) run into many of the same issues with my (largely unsuccessful) incorporation of reality into my worldview. I find myself easilly seduced into sub-cultures of extreme escapism. Alas. Much the opposite of your hard drive for idealized real world success - but a coping mechanism of similar function, I think (if somewhat less utility).
By 
, at
12:13 PM, November 09, 2005
Hughug! I miss you. You should come visit soon so we can chat. =^_^=
By 
Kat, at
5:34 PM, November 09, 2005
