The Sadness of Impermanence

It’s okay to think of yourself and to talk about yourself.
But, sometimes, you talk too much. And no one really wants to hear it. I mean, we all pretend to because it’s the polite thing to do but who wants to sit there, inert, and hear about your boy problems and how many photos of your dog you’ve uploaded on instagram (yes, they are very cute but so are other dogs and other pictures on instagram).
I think of myself all the time. I think to talk about myself pretty often too. But I make a conscious effort to reel it in. I’ve realized that there isn’t really a reason to share all of my life’s problems with everyone I know. If I ever need advice, I’ll ask. It’s slowly become clear to me that the best person to guide one through one’s problems is themselves. Especially if you’re a person who doesn’t take advice anyway.
So stop and take some time to think about your own life by yourself.
Be your own guru. Be your own hero.
Just don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear it.

It’s tough trying to live in an existential, my-life-is-what-I-make-of-it bubble when everyone around you believes that they’ve been bestowed with some sort of divine prowess that will eventually make them successful in life. It’s the curse of the 20-somethings and it’s too bad that I’ve grown out of it.
Because acknowledging that I may not be ‘meant for great things’ in the conventional sense ends up coming across as the idea that I’m not as special as someone else who thinks they’re going to be the next Barack Obama (or worse, the next Richard Branson).
I feel like screaming about it- it’s not about the fact that I know that I won’t be rich and famous! It’s about the fact that, if I’m not going to be rich and famous, you sure as hell are not going to be rich and famous.
I thought we’d have grown up by now. We would have realized that these dreams and fantasies of becoming an icon of our culture/time/world would have faded away. But, instead, I’m sitting across from you at lunch while you give me a rendition of your 10 year plan and how brilliant it’ll be when you’ll finally get your hands on that expensive car/trinket/vacation- how good it’ll feel, knowing that you’ve transformed from being a ‘nothing’ to a triumphant specimen of a human being… all thanks to your own hard work.
But how? I want to ask you this. I mean, you’ve never been able to finish a thing in your life.
I’m too nice to say it. No, that’s a lie. I’m too tired. I’m too tired to say it.
I’m sick of explaining this- to you and to everyone else- that in your constant pursuit of riches and materialistic fruition, you will fail to derive any sustainable meaning from your life. The chances of you owning a Lamborghini are, lets be honest, pretty slim. But even if you do find the fortune you’ve been seeking, will that ever be enough? Watch an episode of E! True Hollywood Story. It’s never enough.
The saddest part of this is that you will fail. You’re going to fail at this thing that is so important to you (which, in real life, is actually not important and very damaging) and then you’ll just be another resigned suburban resider who refuses to spend an extra fifty cents on brand-name dog food because why should Fido be happy if you’re not?