Dear J-
There’s a pervading sense of shame in some of those first posts I wrote back in 1998. Kind of a “well, damnit, I am good enough” feeling possibly brought on by growing up in such a small place — the first time I recognized myself as the minnow among men was that first semester in Berkeley — Dr. Lieu paraded the Drake scholars up on stage after the first day of class and when handing back the first midterms in E28. Unspoken: these are not your peers, these are your superiors. Maybe he meant it as serious motivation; at least it worked in my case (but that just feeds my vicious competitive streak, honestly, appealing to baser emotions can’t be what they teach you in professoring school).
What have I done in the intervening eight years since I last wrote? I took up video games as a mind-numbing substitute for human interaction (trying to wean myself off now). I got married, but not before going on a date with a homosexual man by accident. I’ve held down three jobs at two sites, and believe now that contracting benefits the owners, not the contractors. We’ve bought a house. We’re supposed to be responsible now, I guess.
I’m never convinced that I’ve grown (aside from girth, unfortunately) after intervening years, but every time I look back on the past, I’m filled with at least some regret that I could have done it more stylishly, or at least showing some pizazz. I’ve read that one of the characteristics of folks my age is that we were constantly beat over the head with the idea that we’re special, and thus grow up feeling entitled to fame in some way or another. So maybe that’s me, maybe that’s why I write. I want the everlasting fame and fortune, right? It’s the vanity, it’s the fear — I don’t want to be forgotten, but why should I care if I’m remembered by all, or lost to strangers, honestly?
I don’t believe it’s an entitlement, to be honest. It’s more an insatiable need to be liked, for whatever reason (maybe this is the flip side of the porn star theory — looking for attention/validation from father figures?). I remember when I was three, having my face hurt all day because I kept smiling at people. That can’t be that unusual — doesn’t everyone want to be liked? I think my least favorite times at Worldcom were dealing with account execs (who seemed to have, at best, an adversarial relationship with us poor provisioners) and angry terminal folks, who thought nothing of ripping us up and down for making their lives difficult.
So that’s maybe me, just asking whether or not you still think I’m such an idiot. Although I know I am, I don’t want you to think so.
Mike
Tags: competitive, dating, drake scholars, e28, entitlement, growing, idiot, jobs, lieu, motivation, peers, video games, worldcom
