When I was (much) younger I always thought my life was going to be legendary. I believed this so fiercely, it resulted in many sleepless nights as I steadily drafted my autobiography in my head. I believe it goes without saying, but if I was going to be famous, I would obviously need to publish a borderline scandalous tell-all novel, divulging every true (and embellished detail) of my life.
By the age of 18, I realized I had done absolutely nothing in my pursuit of stardom, which led me to question why I put so much stock in being famous in the first place. When I really drilled down on this lingering goal of mine, I realized that I had no actual desire to be famous; I didn’t have any musical or theatrical talents, I didn’t even want to win the Nobel peace prize, or top Forbes Magazine. So what was it you ask?
- I had an unreasonable belief that if everyone didn’t remember me, my life was a waste, and
- I thought being famous was synonymous with having an easy life.
Truth be told, I probably realized that those two reasons were ridiculous long before I gave up on the idea of my name in stars. I honestly don’t even know when I truly let go of this notion that my life would somehow just end up on the cover of People magazine. Maybe it was when Rick Porcello never acknowledged my, “You’re my tiger, I’ll be your cougar” sign …
But at some point I realized I was waiting for my life to start while it was passing me by. I was wasting time doing work I hated, dating guys I shouldn’t have, spending money on meaningless things, and why? Because no singular event had catapulted my life to the “easy street” I believed I was entitled to?
Let me clarify something here, my parents are not to blame for me believing I was entitled to anything. Both my mom and dad were raised by parents who ran small businesses, and because of this my work-ethic is pretty solid. But like every other millennial, I grew up with a never-ending stream of content that showed me “peers” who were living with way more than I was, all while putting in no effort.
Now all of this said, I still have a lot of thoughts rattling around in my head – and while they may not be autobiography worthy, “I was born on a rainy Monday morning …” they just might be of interest to someone out there. And that right there is the great thing about blogging – you just put it out there! People can read it if they want and if they prefer to pass, that’s fine too!
So if you’re still reading along, welcome to my story …