I’m 18, and I don’t wanna pick, and I don’t understand all the fuss about it.
I am taught human delight comes, when I put things in a box and narrow it down: wether I am into girls or boys, who I will be when I grow up, what job will define me. Definition creates satisfaction, adulthood comes from the ability to commit, and you’re doing it right when you’re consistent with your choices, that’s what I take away from my up-bringing. The guys from career class tell me about stability and incomes, everyone else says something about finding that one thing that I should progress in and stick to, in a philosophy book I read: the true vocation lays in where one’s passion crosses with purpose, and that’s a whole other thing, and I think: Who am I to judge, who am I to know, I want to soak it all in,
and I definitely don’t want to pick one single thing.
I am taught human delight comes, when I put things in a box and narrow it down: wether I am into girls or boys, who I will be when I grow up, what job will define me. Definition creates satisfaction, adulthood comes from the ability to commit, and you’re doing it right when you’re consistent with your choices, that’s what I take away from my up-bringing. The guys from career class tell me about stability and incomes, everyone else says something about finding that one thing that I should progress in and stick to, in a philosophy book I read: the true vocation lays in where one’s passion crosses with purpose, and that’s a whole other thing, and I think: Who am I to judge, who am I to know, I want to soak it all in,
and I definitely don’t want to pick one single thing.
I get obsessed with the thought of lurking into someone else’s head, I get obsessed with words and glimpses and stories and books and flickering ideas and fast changes and I wanna rattle with what they call my identity. I think about blank canvasses and the smell of burnt wood and who I would be if I’d grown up in a different culture, at the other end of the world, what then. And I wonder if I can take all the social constraints and just throw them out.
There’s subtle pressure to be coherent, maybe because we are so addicted to the whole story-telling character of life itself, yet I get intrigued by a life not making sense at all. A kaleidoscope kind of story made out of fragments so different from each other, so messy, so without any context one could get cross-eyed by just looking at it.
For the next years it’s about learning and leaving and seeing how much I can stretch out, how far I can shift from one edge to the other, and I find a lot of the half lives, a lot of jobs, and I lose a lot of myself, and I find a bunch of new things, and at one point I get freaked out by the the „occupation“ field in every form I see.
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I find and let go a lot of things
what’s your job
I’m a stretcher, I wanna say
I stretch towards the ends of the possible
and I imagine to be someone else
as soon as I get a bit bored
very ambitious, very hard-working
with everything I do, all the time
but it doesn’t count, it’s not very adult
because it’s just so all over the place
one thing I do learn:
life has less context than I thought it has
at least for me