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Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Conflicted

Back in college, when I was competing in the classroom with students who were better educated and more wise to the world, I made peace with the fact that I’ll never have anything unique to offer. Everything I think has been thought. Everything I feel has been felt. Everything I say has been said.

Is that depressing?

Or is that comforting?

Answer: It’s both.

It begs the question. If I have nothing to offer that hasn’t already been offered time and time again, what is there to live for?

In my ultra-religious days, a common catchword — heard on just about a daily basis — was “struck.” As in, “I was walking in the woods praying when it really struck me that…”

Well, I’m struck here by the fact that I judge the worth of my life based on what I have to offer, what I have to give others. Is that wrong? I think, partially, yes it is wrong. While I don’t want to live a selfish, self-centered life, I also shouldn’t feel like I have to offer a certain, unique something (whatever that is) in order to feel significant.

One of the characters in “The Great Gatsby” is described as a “jack of all trades, master of none.” I remember that because that is me. There are many things I can do adequately, even more than adequately. But there is nothing I truly excel at, no real claim to fame. That, occasionally, is depressing.

It’s depressing because I’m materialistic. I want to be known as the best at something. I want it to make me rich, famous, etc. etc. It’s a desire I often deny, saying that I don’t care about material things.

But I am the offspring of my father and of my grandfather — two people who very much judge their own worth based on the market value of their belongings. I can’t seem to shake that genetic curse. In my most ascetic moods, I’ve started filling out applications for the Peace Corps, wanting to live a lifestyle of forced asecticism. In other moods, I log onto monster.com and search for jobs that will line my pockets a little better than a meager PR agency.

These are the conflicts I deal with. My lack of excellence in any one area is at turns depressing and comforting. I dream of crushed velvet pillows but force myself to think of cardboard.

There likely is no resolution. At least not now. Not at 23, when yes, I’m still figuring out what I want to be when I grew up, where I’ll fit in society. We all compare ourselves to the Joneses down the street. I’m just wondering, Which Joneses do I want to compare myself to?

Posted by Aaron on November 30, 2004 8:10 PM