Why is it foreigners are so much more interesting and seem to have so much more fruitful and spectacular lives than us Americans? Well, this American anyway.
Growing up middle-class American has affected my ability to be interesting. I’m sure of it. Middle-class is SO boring and SO blah. Everyone is frigging middle-class America. It’s the middle-class who invented the word crazy, because we have to keep doing outrageous things to get attention, otherwise we go unnoticed.
Being boring by default, for instance, means I have to perform small acts of “magic” to seem interesting, even just to myself. Acts of magic like being incredibly slutty, or trying to kill myself, or getting involved in stupid relationship melodrama, or being over 30 and still in school. The best one yet? Pretending I’m a writer, an ARTIST, with real experiences to share. HA. This isn’t how real people with real lives behave.
I don’t know, maybe it’s the Internet. Suddenly I have access to so many lives that were once unknown to me. Maybe it was better before the good old information superhighway, when I hated my life compared only to those I saw around me in my shitty town and to those I saw on TV or in magazines. That I could handle.
But now…well, now I not only have friends and neighbors and celebrities to compare myself to, I’ve got a whole entire world of men and women who are infinitely more attractive and smarter and funnier and can speak exotic languages and they all have alluring accents and the craziest sweetest most amazing stories to share. And what can I offer to top that? The most exciting thing about me is my baby, and there are millions and millions of women with babies. Nothing special there.
Okay, yes you’re right, Ryland is out of this world fantastic and the very definition of special. Therefore, by mere physical proximity, I am elevated slightly in the worthwhile category. But I’m just his mother. His perfect existence doesn’t make ME any more appealing or unique.
In the end, it comes down to me being disappointed with myself. There isn’t really anything all that interesting about me and it’s my fault for not changing that, for not taking action, for not going out and making things happen. I wait. I watch and wait and then feel depressed when the merri-go-round passes me by. Just because I have a ticket doesn’t mean I get to ride. I have to get on first, right?
So what is holding me back. Why won’t I get on the motherfucking ride already?
- Pics of Ryland