While I am housebroken, I don’t consider myself fully tame. I thought of this again after seeing a movie this weekend. I’m very sensitive to movies/books/etc. that promote giving up your dreams/goals and accepting mediocrity as an acceptable substitute. There is this unspoken pressure that since other people didn’t get to live out their dreams of being a fill-in-the-blank, it’s pointless for anyone else to try anything other than the usual 2312.5 lifestyle. That is: 9-5 (or 925) times the 2.5 kids. To this, I say or, more correctly, growl, “GRRR!”
Every now and then, I need to look at my motivations for life and make sure that I’ve not been contaminated by Mediocre Envy…which would be a good band name. And sure enough, I’d been slightly contaminated. I worry far more about mediocrity than Swine Flu, E Coli, and pregnancy* combined. (*It’s a little known fact that pregnancy is contagious: a whole fleet of my friends have come down with it over the last year or so) And as I stare down mediocrity, I come up with alternate life plans. Some of these plans involve fabulously fake names. Some of them involve me learning unusual life skills (like fire-breathing). And some of these plans involve my life looking pretty much the same, but without the need to justify myself.
Since many people seem to start big life adventures when they turn 32, I’m looking forward to preparing for the next ten months. And as more and more advice/encouragement/pressure to have an averagely predictable existence comes my way, I’ll make sure to flatten my ears donkey-style and bite these folks. I’m not fully tame.
An Erinku:
French Press
as my signature
professional wrestling move
life plans
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