When I was young I coveted blank books. I bought them in hopes to fill them with all of my wonderfully original and awe inspiring adolescent thoughts, foolishly believing that one day I would look back at them and think, my God I was such a brilliant teenager. Then one day it dawned on me that my thoughts were not awe inspiring they inspired nothing but a sense of pity. I was not an individual capable of original thought as my English teachers had led me to believe. I had the same thoughts as every other pubescent girl. Soon the books became too beautiful to fill with my meaningless scribble and I put them on shelves and eventually in boxes…blank, just as beautiful as I had found them, still waiting to be filled with brilliance, still full of the potential that I have always hated to hear I was once full of.
As I got a bit older I decided to search for the origin of original thought. I read books, took classes in history, mythology, religion, philosophy, sociology…I sat through lectures and took tests and wrote papers to prove just how much I had learned about all these amazing subjects. Unfortunately after four years of college the one thing I forgot to learn was what to do with the degree I would eventually earn. I went to college to study and learn. I didn’t know I was supposed to use all that to make a career. So eventually the diploma came in the mail to prove just how hard I had worked. Now it sits in boxes along with all those blank books…so full of potential, just like I had once been.
Now as 30 rapidly approaches I am trying to purge myself of all this potential that is taking up valuable storage space and mocking me each time I reach for a sweater in the back of my closet. Like the size six jeans still sitting in my closet, I can’t seem to throw them out. I am afraid to open the boxes, afraid the potential that I have locked up will somehow escape and then what will be left?
When I was young I hated being told I had potential. All that meant to me was I could be so much better than I was, but for some reason, probably my own laziness, I was not. My grandmother no longer talks about my potential, unless of course it is in the past tense. So here I am a 30 year old child wondering what to do when I grow up and still afraid of the monsters hiding in my closet.
First of all, the last line of your "About Me" is hilarious and maybe a little mean. Which reminds me of the you I loved being friends with in college. So, I think you're off to a great start. :)
ReplyDeleteSecond, just wanted to let you know that when I began my blog the day after my 30th birthday, I had no freakin' clue what I was getting into. Almost two years later, it's a pretty crazy little success story. So that potential you've been putting off? Get it out and use it, baby. You never know where it might take you.
You're wrong. You are an original. I am one of the lucky recipients of all your "potential" and adolescent awesomeness.
ReplyDeleteYou have blank notebooks but great history.