Sometimes there is nothing harder in life than being happy for somebody else. Like lottery winners. Or the girl you sat next to in high school choir that sang like a dying parakeet, who now makes a successful living as a fashion model. It's not so much that I'm jealous for said choir classmate, it's more along the lines of, if they can do it, why cant I? What's stopping me from reaching my goals? What's keeping me from my dreams?
As I sat in class on Tuesday I wondered if Corrie was thinking the same thing. She certainly looked like she was, since she stared at me throughout the entire class. Was she seriously waiting for me to shower her with fresh-cut roses and tacky nylar balloons? After reading and listening to all the advice I recieved from blog-friends and blog-enemies alike, about the Corrie Conundrum, I came up with my own strategy.
CORRIE: Hey what happened?
ME: Huh?
CORRIE: Why didnt you call?
ME: Was I supposed to?
CORRIE: Yeah. Didnt you get my note?
ME: Your note? What note?
CORRIE: My note. I left you a note with that lady behind the desk.
ME: No. She didnt give me anything.
CORRIE: Oh.
ME: Yeah. So. Anyways, I guess I'll just talk to you later.
CORRIE: Well, I...
ME: Ok, bye!
No one was the wiser, and no one really got hurt, which in all reality, is the perfect outcome to a disasterous situation. I was just at the door, when my teacher, Ms. Toller called out and asked if I could please stay behind. On the one hand, I was thankful I had a reason to ignore Corrie, but on the other, I wondered why my journalism teacher wanted to talk to just me and only me. As it turns out, Ms. Toller, who used to be an editor for Good Housekeeping, recieved a letter from a friend in New York who told her about an upcoming program for fashion-minded students.
MS. TYLER: ...and I think with your writing skills, you could really benefit from this experience.
ME: Really?
MS. TYLER: Yes. You said something about wanting to write for an entertainment magazine, right?
ME: Uh, yeah.
MS. TYLER: Well, this program will help lead you into the right direction. Here's the form. Please do consider it.
I couldnt believe that Ms. Tyler, had not only enjoyed my class writings, but she saw me succeeding in this three credit course, that would cost me only $14,000. Too bad she couldnt see and tell me where that tuition money was coming from. I left the room floating on cloud nine, with a skip in my step and a toothy smile that would put the Joker to shame. It was the same way I felt when Johanna Edwards left me a comment which, I know it may sound childish, I printed and framed.
But as the day progressed, my goofy grin began to fade. I got an email from an editor at Slate Magazine asking if I would be interested in an internship for the up-coming summer, and if so, I was to send in three clips, a resume, and a cover letter. Besides my out-dated high school newspaper clippings from two years ago, I hadnt written a news-worthy article in like, forever. Except for that one time I wrote an article for a summer program about my high school counselor who posed nude in an OVER 50 magazine, and then later went on Oprah twice. Plus, having had four jobs in the past year alone, wasnt exactly screaming "stable" or "loyal."
It wasnt until I was done with all my classes, that I decided to go and visit my friend Ivan, hoping for some pearls of wisdom, some sage advice, and maybe a well-worded resume. But as it turns out, all Ivan could offer was crushing words.
IVAN: David. Dont you get it? You're trying to live a fantasy life. You need to seriously grow up.
ME: What are you talking about?
IVAN: You need to grow up. You need to stop dreaming about living in New York or wherever as a famous writer or a famous journalist. You need to get back to reality buddy, and get a real job. Move out of your folks home. Start paying bills and stuff.
ME: Why?
IVAN: Because. You gonna live with your parents forever?
ME: No.
IVAN: Well, then? When are you gonna move out? When are you gonna get your own place and start living like an adult?
The harsh reality of my dreams never coming true hit me. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I knew it was a possibility, but having my friend tell me face to face, made that possibilty much more real.
IVAN: David, you're 20!
ME: And?
IVAN: I'm 19, and I have a good-paying job, my own place, and my own family. I pay my own bills and do you know why? Because it's my responsibilty. If I dont do it, no one else is gonna take care of me. I cant just wait around for some dream to come true. You gotta wake up and realize that.
ME: You know what, Ivan? I'm sorry, you had to grow up faster than you wanted to. I'm sorry your life sucks and that you were given more responsibilites than you can handle. But dont hate on me. I'm not the one that fooled around and had to grow up overnight.
IVAN: So what? You're gonna wait to have a kid and then grow up?
ME: Just because I dont fall into your definition of grown up, doesnt mean I'm not, ok?
IVAN: Whatever David.
ME: I'm still young and I have my whole life waiting to be lived. While you just lost the next 18 years of your life.
IVAN: Fuck you.
ME: Fuck you.
I left Ivan, wondering why he chose to rain on my parade. I was looking for the stock best friend response of "You'll submit your stuff, and by the weekend you'll be a famous millionaire writer," but instead, all I got was a slap across the face. Or as Ivan put it, tough love. True, I do have goals and dreams, some of which may be a bit far-fetched, but I wasnt living in a fantasy world. Or was I? Is believing in the possibility that dreams might come true a waste of time? In a society like ours, with it's pace and pressures, isnt it important to remember a simpler time when the best thing in life was just hanging out, listening to CD's and having fun with your friends? When the world was yours and the possibilties were endless? At what age do you have to be to realize that the Peter Pan syndrome is no longer an option and that dreams are something your heart should stop making? At what age, do you have to grow up?
As I sat in class on Tuesday I wondered if Corrie was thinking the same thing. She certainly looked like she was, since she stared at me throughout the entire class. Was she seriously waiting for me to shower her with fresh-cut roses and tacky nylar balloons? After reading and listening to all the advice I recieved from blog-friends and blog-enemies alike, about the Corrie Conundrum, I came up with my own strategy.
CORRIE: Hey what happened?
ME: Huh?
CORRIE: Why didnt you call?
ME: Was I supposed to?
CORRIE: Yeah. Didnt you get my note?
ME: Your note? What note?
CORRIE: My note. I left you a note with that lady behind the desk.
ME: No. She didnt give me anything.
CORRIE: Oh.
ME: Yeah. So. Anyways, I guess I'll just talk to you later.
CORRIE: Well, I...
ME: Ok, bye!
No one was the wiser, and no one really got hurt, which in all reality, is the perfect outcome to a disasterous situation. I was just at the door, when my teacher, Ms. Toller called out and asked if I could please stay behind. On the one hand, I was thankful I had a reason to ignore Corrie, but on the other, I wondered why my journalism teacher wanted to talk to just me and only me. As it turns out, Ms. Toller, who used to be an editor for Good Housekeeping, recieved a letter from a friend in New York who told her about an upcoming program for fashion-minded students.
MS. TYLER: ...and I think with your writing skills, you could really benefit from this experience.
ME: Really?
MS. TYLER: Yes. You said something about wanting to write for an entertainment magazine, right?
ME: Uh, yeah.
MS. TYLER: Well, this program will help lead you into the right direction. Here's the form. Please do consider it.
I couldnt believe that Ms. Tyler, had not only enjoyed my class writings, but she saw me succeeding in this three credit course, that would cost me only $14,000. Too bad she couldnt see and tell me where that tuition money was coming from. I left the room floating on cloud nine, with a skip in my step and a toothy smile that would put the Joker to shame. It was the same way I felt when Johanna Edwards left me a comment which, I know it may sound childish, I printed and framed.
But as the day progressed, my goofy grin began to fade. I got an email from an editor at Slate Magazine asking if I would be interested in an internship for the up-coming summer, and if so, I was to send in three clips, a resume, and a cover letter. Besides my out-dated high school newspaper clippings from two years ago, I hadnt written a news-worthy article in like, forever. Except for that one time I wrote an article for a summer program about my high school counselor who posed nude in an OVER 50 magazine, and then later went on Oprah twice. Plus, having had four jobs in the past year alone, wasnt exactly screaming "stable" or "loyal."
It wasnt until I was done with all my classes, that I decided to go and visit my friend Ivan, hoping for some pearls of wisdom, some sage advice, and maybe a well-worded resume. But as it turns out, all Ivan could offer was crushing words.
IVAN: David. Dont you get it? You're trying to live a fantasy life. You need to seriously grow up.
ME: What are you talking about?
IVAN: You need to grow up. You need to stop dreaming about living in New York or wherever as a famous writer or a famous journalist. You need to get back to reality buddy, and get a real job. Move out of your folks home. Start paying bills and stuff.
ME: Why?
IVAN: Because. You gonna live with your parents forever?
ME: No.
IVAN: Well, then? When are you gonna move out? When are you gonna get your own place and start living like an adult?
The harsh reality of my dreams never coming true hit me. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I knew it was a possibility, but having my friend tell me face to face, made that possibilty much more real.
IVAN: David, you're 20!
ME: And?
IVAN: I'm 19, and I have a good-paying job, my own place, and my own family. I pay my own bills and do you know why? Because it's my responsibilty. If I dont do it, no one else is gonna take care of me. I cant just wait around for some dream to come true. You gotta wake up and realize that.
ME: You know what, Ivan? I'm sorry, you had to grow up faster than you wanted to. I'm sorry your life sucks and that you were given more responsibilites than you can handle. But dont hate on me. I'm not the one that fooled around and had to grow up overnight.
IVAN: So what? You're gonna wait to have a kid and then grow up?
ME: Just because I dont fall into your definition of grown up, doesnt mean I'm not, ok?
IVAN: Whatever David.
ME: I'm still young and I have my whole life waiting to be lived. While you just lost the next 18 years of your life.
IVAN: Fuck you.
ME: Fuck you.
I left Ivan, wondering why he chose to rain on my parade. I was looking for the stock best friend response of "You'll submit your stuff, and by the weekend you'll be a famous millionaire writer," but instead, all I got was a slap across the face. Or as Ivan put it, tough love. True, I do have goals and dreams, some of which may be a bit far-fetched, but I wasnt living in a fantasy world. Or was I? Is believing in the possibility that dreams might come true a waste of time? In a society like ours, with it's pace and pressures, isnt it important to remember a simpler time when the best thing in life was just hanging out, listening to CD's and having fun with your friends? When the world was yours and the possibilties were endless? At what age do you have to be to realize that the Peter Pan syndrome is no longer an option and that dreams are something your heart should stop making? At what age, do you have to grow up?
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