So You Say

People say things.
There are a lot of people.  There are a lot of things said.
No one ever agrees.

I am weak, flawed, scared.  Very scared.  Perfection looms, possibility lurks, and the demons of hope bear wicked grins. I don't know.  I don't know a lot of things.  I cannot stop.  Time will not allow it.  So I hope.

Failure.   Such a scary word, but what does it mean?
Have I failed if I don't live up to someone's expectation?
Have I failed if I don't have any expectations?  Or have too many?
Have I failed if I'm not happy? wealthy? good? right?
Can I only fail by not doing anything at all?  Is it really possible to fail?
Is it as objective as it seems to be?  Can someone be revered by all and still consider themselves a failure?  Can someone be considered failed by others but a success in their own right?

I'm a human.  Humans have a sense of desperation that works quite well in making them do things.  I fear a future in which I'm penniless. Suffering.  A drain on society. Friendless.
By the way people talk, it sounds like the job market is horrendous.  That only after months of agony can a lucky individual hope to find a minimum-wage job.  People are frightened by a 10% unemployment rate.  Which if I interpret correctly, means that 90% of people have jobs.  In truth, I'm probably not exceptional enough not to have a job.  Maybe the complaining is a result of the unrealized American dream.  People unsatisfied with their job, even though it gives them a substantial life.

I worry about grad school.  I fret about the prestigious colleges that won't accept me, and the mediocre ones that won't either.  I worry about disappointing the people who tell me I'm smart.  I'm scared by the people who tell me that graduate school isn't worth it.  That it will keep me from getting a job, or will land me in a vicious and cutthroat environment in which I'm doomed to waste friendless and stressed until I realize that I'm simply not good enough.  I'm worried about the warnings about all the things I need to be to "succeed", the equally mystic opposite of failure.  I need to be charming. I need to be brilliant.  I need to be diligent.  I need to be outgoing.  I need to be perfect.  I'm not even close.

I wish that I could see the balance.  That I could hear people talk about how they like some parts of their job, even if it's not everything they've ever dreamed of.  I wish I could hear talk about how getting a job is stressful, but not unachievable.  I want someone to talk about the craziness of getting into and through grad school, but also gratitude for how much they learned.  I want someone to tell me that people will appreciate my strengths even through my flaws, just like people do all the time for each other.  I want someone to help me know that I'll be okay.
And I'd rather that someone not be me trying to convince myself.

Laughing at the Fallen Child

I saw a little boy fall down today.

Pain not good.  No like pain.  This is a very basic and very general sentiment, and thus when we find someone else hurting, our first response is to stop the pain.  Often, this is done through sympathy.  I remember reading somewhere that when a child falls, they don't actually have a response. They mirror what their parent does.  If the parent looks worried or panicked, the child will cry.  If the parent is nonchalant or humored, the child will stand back up, completely fine.
Due to this reading, I wanted to help the child by blowing off the situation and offering to help him up. His mother came to him, so I did not interfere.

Today I also read an article that talks about the current child-rearing practice of allowing all children to believe they are above average, and protecting them from uncomfortable things.
While it is good parenting advice to store for the future, it made me think a lot about myself.  They're talking about the kids raised in my generation.  They're talking about me.
Arguably, my anxious symptoms could have been caused by too much negative stimulus as opposed to not enough, but either way the result is the same: I am slow to make decisions, avoid leadership, and cannot handle painful situations well.

So now what? The article was directed at the parents, not the children.  It was certainly no how-to guide growing up after being protected from everything.  That's something I have to figure it out on my own, but it's certainly fitting that it should happen that way.

Incalculable data shows that pain is not avoidable in life.  It simply isn't.  No matter the bubble of protection someone has, or the shelter from bad things, or luck of the irish, life is going to be unhappy sometimes.  The point, as I have come to see it, is not to do anything stupid during these times.  And maybe I'll have the best chance of making smart choices in these times if I don't hate them so much.  Maybe I won't hate them so much if I can learn to be at peace sitting with unpleasantness.  Maybe I can learn to laugh at the fallen child.  At a fallen self.