As I think I’ve brought up before, I’m unable to write when I’m happy. That’s probably why this blog has been relatively inactive for a while now – because after a long stretch of time, these last few months are the happiest I’ve had. Nothing fresh brought on the contentment. But I’d finally started to understand my job, finally established a daily routine of sorts, and finally started meeting up again with friends I’d been hiding from for years.
Still no love life. Still pretty unfit. But coping and coping fairly well.
The other day I wandered into the Facebook page of someone two-degrees-of-separation away from me, and I read something telling on her wall. Essentially, that person was lamenting the glory of years past. All of us from the State U, you see, we were incandescent when we were much younger. All of us were the crème de la crème of our high school batches. All of us were big fish. And then we went to UP, met other brilliant kids, and then – for most of the UP population, I would say – we suddenly felt our early brilliance diminish. Which, when you think about it objectively, isn’t at all true.
Still, that’s what it feels like when you’re stuck in a roomful of other strapping, motivated thinkers. You feel much smaller than you really are, bogged down by expectations of which yours are the heaviest.
The bottom line being, I’m happier now because ten years after entering college, I’m finally beginning to catch up with the reality that the older you get, the less chances there will be of the world treating you like a Promil Kid. The achievements of your early youth, they only seemed much grander back then because they were seen through young, unknowing eyes and a narrow perspective of the world. Your seventeenth paycheck is essentially no less valuable than your first gold medal. Pitching a successful proposal is just the same as getting recognized for a well-research investigatory project.
I’m getting older. I think that’s what happens when you start getting older, you start spouting calm nonsense like this.