I hard a hard time when I turned 27. Life was going OK, it just sort of hurt, you know? I realized that, as I was turning 27, there are many things I wanted to accomplish by the time I turned thirty, and now it was too late to finish them in time.
I had thrown so much of the previous ten years away on a mistake and a doomed dream. It hurt knowing that I let myself down by not living up to my goals. I know, a lot of you are thinking that it’s all a part of life, we aim high and if we miss, we try again. That’s what I did. I was bummed for a bit, but then realized I’ll just have to try again, this time before I am 40.
Well, I’m turning 37 this month and I realized that I do not have the same feeling as I did ten years ago. Many of the same goals are still not fulfilled, but some of them are. I have a loving family and I own my own home. I still don’t have a degree, and the odds of that happening are slipping away, for now. I did at least go back to school for a year, but then ran out of money.
I wonder now, as I sit here in my basement listening to Queen on the ipad, if the reason I don’t feel the same disappointment as I did then isn’t so much the fact that I at least got some of them done as it is that I’m used to disappointing myself by now. In many of the things I set out to do, I am always the one who give up and fails.
I try to come up with reasons I failed. I got no outside support. I didn’t have the money for materials. I didn’t have the time. Netflix scrambled my brain. In the end, the only reason I fail is because I give up. I want to find that one thing that I am naturally good at so I don’t have to try too hard at it. I’m simply lazy. Well, and needy. I need people to share these things with, and I just don’t have that. Also my fault.
I tell myself that there is nothing I can do naturally so well without having to work hard at it that will make me a living. There are somethings I think I’m pretty good at, like writing. As most of you can see, that could really use some work too. I’m still not sure I’m any good at all. I’ve hated almost everything I’ve ever written. My family and friends say they like some of it, but you can’t trust them, can you?
Until I can get myself to stop being lazy, nothing will ever change. You want to know the worst part? I’m too lazy to stop being lazy.
I had a pretty brilliant mind when I was younger. I was one of the smartest people I knew. When it came to learning anything in school, I never had to work at it. I just knew it. Never studied for a test, never had to. I see all these classmates running, sometimes in tears, down the hall freaked out about this test or that. I always wondered why they didn’t just learn it when it was taught to us? Everything that was said in class or read in a book, I learned it. I didn’t memorize it like many others, I learned it. I understood it. I could take what was taught and apply it to everything else, or extend it to the next logical step. I often heard from my teachers, when I would ask them something, that it would be covered later in the year, or I would have to wait until collage. The best teachers were the ones who told me anyway. They knew their subjects, beyond what was in the teacher’s guide. They would let me come in after school to try something beyond what we had learned that day. I saw how every piece of information I gathered in school fit together and how they fit into the universe.
I allow myself this bit of bragging to show you the background I’m coming from. I never had to work hard in High School. The military gave my brilliant mind one of the dumbest jobs in the force, so I didn’t have to work hard there either. Hell, I think my mental prowess began to decline about this time. I saw how my father worked hard at a physical job, which he didn’t seem to hate. He, in my opinion, is one of the dumbest men I have ever met. I knew physical labor was not for me.
Both my parents worked hard the entire time I was with them. Yet, for some reason, that hard work mentality was never passed down to me. I could try to blame the school or my parents for not pushing me harder in school. It was always too easy and I never had to try. Ultimately though, its my own fault. I am the only one who can make me do the things I want to do. That is what kills me. I’m too lazy to do the things I WANT to do.
The other possible reason I have for not feeling bad about finishing my live goals by the time I was 40 is this: I grew up. I learned that some of the goals were either too ambitious or not really important goals. I’ve set myself some new goals though, and there is a chance I might actually fulfill one. If I can stop being lazy long enough to learn that hard work pays off. This is something I have never learned nor experienced first hand. Most people I know who work hard are in the exact same boat I’m in now. What did working hard get them? Nothing. Well, maybe they take a bit more pride in themselves then I do. Maybe their life feels more fulfilled than mine. Maybe they are even happier than I am.
In the end, maybe that’s what counts.