Head Aches: Which One of These Is Not Like the Other

And for $563 the answer is me.

When we're children, we are taught that we are all unique. We are all special. We are all different. How many of us take the time to explore the inherent irony that if we are all unique, special and different that we are in fact the same in that we are all similarly not the same. (I'll give you a minute for that one. I'm feeling especially reflective yet bitter today; consider this your last and only warning.)

So when we grow up to become typically dysfunctional turned functional with the aid of enough high-priced therapeutic counseling and/or various substances, why is it so surprising to your teachers, families, or anyone else who filled your head with this "march to the beat of your own drummer" crap, that you would turn out a little bit different than how they expected.

And yet, those who are "older" and "wiser" than you feel that because they've lived longer they know the key to all happiness in life, despite the fact that they might be miserable themselves. They're sure that if you chuck your different=difficult life, you would be much happier following paths that gave them just as many aches along the way. Ah, how convenient recollection can be when we only focus on the good things in our lives and the bad things in others. Judgemental much folks?

So the Baby Boomers think that us young folk are meandering. We're delusional. We're lazy. The fact that we go after our creative dreams and pursuits are cute. But then we reach that certain age when they turn on us after encouraging us all those years:

"You're (fill in a mid to late 20s-30s age here) years old. Maybe we should start discussing your career choices."

"But (fill in name of parent, relative or other sage), I've already got a career."

"You have a passion, and I love that about you, but you should really think about starting to get serious."

What's such an impossibility about being serious about a passion, about your passion? When did the dreamers start being the victims of all this bubble-bursting?

Of course, once the dreamer is raking in the dough for their passion, the sage then becomes very proud, very "I knew it all along that you were going to make it!"

Really? You don't say! Me thinks you should pick up the phone and call yourself 8 years ago when you were pitching me the lifestyle of a geology teacher (not that there's anything wrong with that; nothing but respect for teachers of all kind.)


Now reader, I know you're smart, and that you can tell this is just be bitchin about being confronted at another family gathering, or as I like to akin them to, the Salem Witch Trials. Round after round of accusations that I am in fact *gasp* a writer and *gasp* don't I agree that I'm wasting both my time and potential trying to *gasp* write instead of doing whatever it is I should be doing with my life. Isn't it true reader that I take *gasp* jobs that I may be *gasp* overqualified and under-appreciated for to subsidize my living conditions? Isn't it true that I have more of a focus on my career than on having babies, a husband, and a real career *GASP*.


Yes! It's true dammit! Fine, book me. Take me away for the rest of my days because I'm guilty of believing I should follow my passion until I just can't will myself to do so anymore.

I will tell any child, any grown-up, anyone who will listen, that they can do anything they want to do (with the exception that it neither harms themselves nor others). Herein lies the difference: when I say it, I'll believe it. I won't say it because you're supposed to. I won't say it in order to appease them. I know it's never too early or late for anything. I have so much faith in that concept that it makes it real.

However, I will leave out the part that no one else actually believes it. Kids especially should find out we've been falsely encouraging them all these years. After all, reality's a little too fractured of a fairy tale to swallow, isn't it?