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This Pointless Life by Michael Tartàglia, © 2000 |
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I write this at a time where I am undergoing a relatively minor mental metamorphosis. Whatever change that was supposed to take place at my age has already occurred. I have already pondered my future life, evaluated my past, and analyze my present situations. At times, though, I feel slightly disturbed -- the exact feeling resembles that of confusion, disappointment, anxiety, and regretfulness rolled into a neat package. Sure, this gets to be overwhelming at times, however it is nothing I cannot handle. My self-assuring evidence lies in the fact that I can correctly identify the disturbing feelings within me. On many cold, quiet nights I daydream out-loud. Perhaps one can describe this act better as virtually checking reality. Picture a child talking to his or her imaginary friend. Now, take that child and update him or her to the late-teenage version. All that I think of (either people, places, or scenarios) exists for a few minutes, right in front of me. For example, in these checks I picture myself talking to people I wish to know (or be), being in places I want to visit (or live in), having jobs I desire, and so on. On occasion I picture myself in dangerous events, where I end up being the hero, though badly hurt. My favorite virtual reality check is where I sit on a hillside at sunset with my wife beside me, while our two children -- one boy, one girl -- play in the field below us. Now wait for a minute! I picture myself being a hero, being influential, living in foreign lands (if not visiting them several times per month), and having jobs many other individuals would almost kill to have, but I get the best feeling when just sitting on a hill? Quite pointless, you may think. I could have all the fortunes previously mentioned, yet I would not be as happy as knowing that I have a wife, two children, a simple house (or an apartment), and also a job to help support them. I will love them all for better or for worse, for rich or for poor. That is what I strongly believe my lifelong goal is. That is also what I believe is disturbing me. I was raised knowing that being successful meant being rich. I was introduced to a better definition later on in life. "Being successful" is striving and achieving a particular goal. The qualities of being rich and famous are the results of someone else's goal; this idea was quickly spread around by the kind media who make their living on image projection. Modern standards for society include a belief in the latter media-enforced definition. My desire to lead a quiet, meaningful life, therefore, does not fit in. That confuses me. I just hope I can figure all this out before my twenty-fifth year of happy marriage. |
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