Bearing witness to the reelection of the first black president of the United States, I think that we live in extraordinary times: climate change; worldwide volatile economies reminiscent of 1997, 2008’s financial crisis; the Arab Spring; Palestinians still don’t have a home; the Malia generation: young people growing older, coming of age to speak for our generation. In the age of the internet, I’m not sure how loudly everyone needs to speak in order to be heard. Everyone is a voice of a generation, and nobody is the voice of a generation any longer. Everyone needs to be fiercely competitive in order to survive, the meek are weeded out. Many young people I know are directors of blossoming start-ups. I think it’s fantastic. At this age, it seems like everything is at your feet and you just want to change the world bottom-up, top-down. We can do it all. We can look good and feel good and earn well and live well and run knee breaking marathons and we’ll wake up the next morning and do it all over again. If I was dreamy as an adolescent, my dreams – no, goals – have gotten bigger now. It’s dangerous, tottering the edge between reality and the free-fall to heartbreaking disappointment.
“But he is so wary, wary. Has visions of his life, but in a hiatus as to their implementation—wants to fly, and hasn’t yet started to take off, so resents extra weight.”
I’ve cited this description so many times, but it resounds in my head more often than I would like.
I resent this extra weight I bear. Please take it off of me.