I get scared a lot. Knowingly falling victim to the black
sheep of the family “Mahachievers”…and already I’m romanticizing my status when
in reality, I eagerly raised my hand to sign up for the not-so-coveted black
sheep title.
And we’re not Mahachievers, we’re the Maharaj’s. Our walls
lack the MIT and Harvard diplomas, and we don’t frequent a second home in the
Seychelles for quality r&r twice a year. But throw in some doctors
(current, soon-to-be and aspiring) and a rags-to-riches CEO, and we’re far from
America’s norm.
Which sucks for me in more ways than one. Conversationally: This is my son, getting married next year to
an engineer. He’s preparing for residency in internal medicine. My daughter’s
in the process of applying to med schools, whilst working full-time for
mentally and physically disabled adults. And this is—
How much can we embellish the line, “I’m unemployed and live
with my parents”?
Not at all. George Constanza didn’t, though it somehow
worked for him (for a fleeting moment).
Coronarily (yes, I’m breaking rules by ignoring the
distracting red squiggle, but rule breaking is in my nature). My future, or
lack thereof, could be one of a handful of scares that engenders a possible
heart attack in one or both of my parents. They bite their tongues more than
they're willing to admit, but I know my post-grad life has been the subject of
their ruminations at least a dozen times this week. Silent, but deadly.
And quite possibly the worst: mentally. I’ll actually
following the infamous writers KISS rule on this one—I feel like a fucking
failure.
I hate roller coasters (and clichés, and tangential thoughts
that reflect a cluttered mind. funny), but life is such, including mine. I’ve had
ups (fell in love, got involved on campus, ran a very, very long
distance…twice), and I’ve had downs (fell in love, broke circles of trust, endured
road rage gone bad, forged signatures, purchased illegal things, stole legal
things). Is it any surprise that the latter list could have taken up an entire
page, size 8 font, .5 margins?
I’m trying to pound the notion in my head that this, this
right here, is a down. I’m going down. But what goes down, must come up.
I may have worded that wrong, but I know what I’m trying to
say, and that’s all that should matter. This down will eventually go up. Not
like gravity, but like a roller coaster. And eventually those wild rides balance
out in the end (or can kill you, as my CNN notification so tragically reported).
I really hope my bait will bite soon, for conversation,
coronary, and mental purposes.
*KISS means Keep It Simple, Stupid. While I find the
name-calling-conclusion superfluous, I suppose it completes the acronym. It’s
kind of catchy, too.
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