I will probably go to hell for saying this. That or receive a stream of e-mail from haters, raised eyebrows or judgmental hubbub from the regular passerby. But it has to be said, if only as my tragic love letter to letting go of the beautiful letdown that was 2007. After all, I’m suddenly 21 and it’s about time I started growing up.
I’m a brat. A spoiled brat. I have been for most of my life. I know what I want, and I get what I want, and will stop at nothing until I have it. Sealed within the palm of my hands. Almost always lost in translation. That’s just how I was raised. Easy and breezy is how I’ve known my life to be, having profoundly perfected the craft of taking advantage of my parents’ generosity of spirit and owning up to it despite judgment and the harsh realities that confound us in society, despite the endless words of wisdom I get from my friends about being modest and independent.
Recently, I find myself not desiring anything badly enough to want to save up for it, not choosing to hide my allowance for a rainy day, and experiencing a general lack of commitment to work and personal growth opportunities. Nor has there been a singular, awe-inspiring, highly coveted, unimaginable possibility up on a pedestal that I find myself really striving for. After all, things have come easy for me in life. And there really was no reason to succeed.
The irony of being a brat? You can have everything, and seem to want nothing else, and live every waking minute not caring. Yet in those quiet existential moments that hit you at the sight of the oppressed, the labored, and those left behind, or at the end of the almost always hoity-toity, glamorous day, you still find yourself unhappy. That gift of craving absolutely nothing. Of knowing that, within a relationship, it’s not the material things that matter but the moments that you share. And I’m not just talking about the romantic tragedy between lovers of all shapes and sizes. It’s one’s defining relationships with family, with God, and with one’s self that take greater and more salient precedence.
I’m a college senior, about to graduate this year, faced with limitless possibilities of what to do with my life. Be an artist. A politician. A media personality. A writer. Or perhaps move to New York and take my master’s at my dream school, NYU. But the proverbial brat within has unfortunately crippled my dedication to these dreams, myself and life. They say the more you acquire, the less in touch with yourself you become.
Having been exposed to the diverse fairgrounds of collegiate life and theater, I’ve found myself being lured and enticed by the cutthroat, realistic world of fighting one’s own battles instead of fleeing, and conquering the eye of the storm; working and succeeding by merit rather than the pretentious ostentation of pedigree, status or wealth that takes you away from the gripping reality of things, or from yourself.
Let me digress a bit. I’m quite sure that not all those who find themselves in this position are completely devoid of sense and sensibility. There is sometimes passionate imagination, humanitarianism and blessed mobility among those born with silver spoons in their mouths. In Sartre’s existentialist view, after all, it is precisely the ability of man to self-actualize that counts — making choices free from the excuses of wasted potential or reluctance to tread the underside of life. In other words, it’s what you do with what you have that matters. However, it is sometimes the accumulation of luxury or the reality of the silver spoon that makes one complacent about life and success; this should, indeed, boggle the brat of today. When nothing but an unexamined life breeds a life of questionable contentment, yet something as simple as a faceless hello, a telephone call, or a morning breeze can give you the most gratifying comfort and joy. In other words, the simple things. In other words, growing up.
And so let this be my belated form of letting go to the beautiful letdown of 2007, to thine self that has not been true, and a willful commitment to the unsteady and exciting possibilities of 2008. “Be not like dumb-driven cattle, but a hero in strife.” Take and not be taken. Make and not be made. Find and not be found. Fight and not be fallen. Live and not be lived. The “silver spoon” has finally dropped. And it’s time today to pick it up and hide it in the cupboard where it rightfully belongs. Farewell 2007. Fight, 2008!
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Catch your breath and let me know what you think at imcalledtoffee@mac.com.