You just want to inspire people, man. You imagine your life as a tiny seed and each selfless action as a drop of water, each act of self-care as a handful of fertilizer, and each act of creativity as a ray of sun. Too much or too little of any of those things, and your life won’t sprout. It’s a balancing act … Oh sorry. You’re just practicing for your next motivational speaking gig. You are so busy practicing how to help others, in fact, that your tiny seed is all but drowning.
You take a moment to step back from your first job of dutifully entering data into spreadsheets to wonder if there’s more to life than practicality. The empty cells glare at you until you succumb to your own need to be reliable above all else. You reward yourself by organizing the various planes of your existence into a pie chart based on how often you exist in each one. Maybe the meaning of life is organization.
You can’t convince your coworkers that robot pets are the next big thing, so you spend your evenings devising a plan to annihilate them. You sip scotch and mutter “They’ll see. They’ll all see” over and over again. You never sleep. In ten years, you’ll sale your idea to a Fortune 500 company and make millions by your persistence alone. If you don’t, well, who is anybody kidding? You will. They’ll see.
You think your generation needs to get out of its head and focus on what’s real. If you can’t touch it, it isn’t worth exploring. This mentality makes your hands-off, office job virtually unbearable. You come home to a floor covered in unfinished blueprints for various inventions. You can only find solace at your workbench. Maybe one day, you will finish something … If only you had been born before the light bulb was invented.