As the world evolves and everything I know becomes just a system of memory shared with my fellow generational travelers, I must say it’s hard to identify myself. The culture and times in which one lived and came of age can be almost a whole identity, I feel. And I used to have a sort of vision, and style of what I wanted to be and what I wanted to be seen as- but I’ve changed my mind on that front long ago, to the point where I find my original Self Actualized Ideal to be somewhat laughable and cringe in hindsight.
I ended up becoming something I did not intend, but fortunately for me it was something I also liked. I feel almost complete contentedness for what I am and how I operate in the world, blatantly obvious flaws and all, and nowhere in that equation is any kind of ideal or vision for myself. Whatever I am, whether I can even see what that is from the inside, is just what I want to be. Vision not needed. Self not needed. I’ll have what I’m having! What complete lack of anything broken is there to fix?
I see these people rich with warm friendships and find myself envious of all the little joys that they must have in their life, that I once did, and might again one day. I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge sitting outside of Bob Cratchit’s window in the cold watching the family enjoy christmas dinner by the orange glowing fireplace.
But when they let me in, and they start talking about each other and a thousand other things I suddenly realize I couldn’t care less about, I seem to decide that actually I can’t do “people” and back out into the mercifully cold air I go, ne’er to return.
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