I could have saved years of therapy.
I love reading The Awl, because it’s douchey, but douchey-aware, but let’s not get into that. The advice column, Ask Polly, is amazing and with every entry my worldview is changed. As a budding advice columnist myself, I am usually skeptical of questions submitted. Look, we all know the advice columnist writes them. if that is the case, “Polly” just reached deep into my soul and read my inner thoughts:
I used to think someday I’d move to LA and have a career and some awesome destiny. I deluded myself very nicely for a couple of years that my awesome future was only a year or two and a move away—then I realized this year that I’m never going to make it and you can’t just move without a plan and a goal, hoping for a change. The practicality kicks in and I always realize that this is all I’ve got and this is all I’m ever going to be—a boring clerical who’s getting way too old (mid-30’s) to have dreams of being an attention whore. I want so much more than this provincial life, but I haven’t the faintest idea how to get it. Everyone is tired of hearing me whine, including me, and folks (including my mom and shrink) are now saying, “Can’t you just be happy with things as they are?” I see their point, since I’m clearly not going to do jack shit anyway and I might as well enjoy that my life is okay. I really like the town I live in, I have a job I’m unlikely to get laid off from because god knows everyone needs someone to work at a front counter and take the drama, I have my own apartment and a car and spend my free time doing my fifty billion hobbies instead of wiping bums and screaming at my family. If not for the inner whine to be a shiny star, I’d be fine. So why isn’t that enough? Why won’t the whining wanker within me stop wanting attention and just shut up? Except I’m starting to think what with the losing interest in the few things I did feel like were calling me, maybe it is shutting up, because I’m too inadequate to answer that call. I didn’t answer in time and now the call is dying.
Maybe this is the inner ennui of a single thirty-something gal who is intelligent and creative, yet was not nurtured by the public university she had to attend for lack of financial aid. It’s the inner thoughts of a woman who has lived in the cities that are supposed to make dreams come true but she is the same old person anyways.
I emailed this to my therapist.