Destiny

I always had this feeling growing up, that I was going to be more than my surroundings.  I wanted to be more than the middle class family from the suburbs of Saint Paul Minnesota that I grew up in.  I always thought I’d be the one that made it.  

Somewhere along the line I started to lose faith.  I started believing that I was that average middle class american that my parents raised me to be, and to this day I have not figured out what I’m destined to do that will pull me out of my average slump.  

Since the first love story I read and the first heart-wrenching film I watched, I always thought that I would be important; I always thought that I would be somebody.  I wanted to die as a person that people knew.  I wanted to be someone whose name people heard and remembered with pride.  Lately, I haven’t felt that so much. 

I feel like all my talents rest in things that aren’t considered real skills. Whether it be drawing, cooking, or writing; the things that I’m greatest at will never be something that people remember. I think a lot of people think this way.  

We’re born into families, religious or not, that suggest that destiny or god or whatever being we believe in has a greater plan for us; that we’re destined for greatness.  No one ever tells you that you might be one of the 999,999 people out of 1,000,00 that isn’t.  You might be the person that lives and dies without a second glance.  

No one tells you that you aren’t special.

I wish I would have been brought up to know that I’m nobody in particular. With the understanding that I’m not special, that I’ll probably live my whole life doing nothing significant and die not being remembered.  This is the norm.  People need to stop feeding their children this bullshit about being one in a million and dreaming big, and being special. 

You are not special.

You are the 2 or 50 or 100 or 50,000 or 999,999 of a million that will live their life and never be remembered.  You are average.  You are nothing.  

Life Problems

For those of us in the real world, work is real life.  We get up everyday, we put in our 8 or 9 or 10 or even twelve plus hours on the job and we return to spend very little meaningful time with our “loved  ones” before we sit down in front of the TV waiting for fatigue to set in so we might get a decent amount of sleep before waking up to do it all over again.  Life’s monotony is brutal.  If only we could shake our child selves and scream in those faces that growing up isn’t all its cracked up to be. 

STOP WISHING TO GROW OLD! 

Chances are it wouldn’t be enough even if we could. 
You see no one tells you when you’re young and looking forward to the things like driving, sex, drugs, and rebellion of high school and college that one day it ends and when that day comes you’ve either made something of yourself or you haven’t but either way, real life is breathing its cold breath down your neck it doesn’t slow down for you to catch up. 

Just Keep Swimming.

For the past year or so, I’ve been struggling with my own poor decisions of growing up.  When I graduated high school, I made the decision to attend Iowa State University for college.  The night before I left, my boyfriend of nearly a year had decided that he wasn’t going to bring his girlfriend to college and he broke me heart a mere few hours before I was set to begin “the best years of my life”. 

Once the depression set in,  I learned very quickly how easy it was to allow school to take the back burner to getting stoned and daily black outs.  I left Iowa State that year with a 1.7GPA and an academic probation on my record as set out to move home and transfer to school near by.  I then spent the next three years completing two, two-year associate degress in art and in science.  I’ve since transferred to the University of Wisconsin-River Falls in hopes of completing my bachelors in art.  As each day passes, the dawn of the real world, which I’ve managed to put off with my six years in college, draws nearer and nearer.  While I’ve accomplished what some feel is impressive, I’ve always felt exceedingly less of myself. As graduation closes in, so does the ever present realization that at twenty-four years old, I have no idea what I wish to do with my life. This fact scares the shit out of me. 

I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world.

I think there’s a little part in all of us that fears the life that we’ve been destined to live.  Since I was very young I believed that as the product of a botched vasectomy, that I was destined for greatness.  Lately, even that isn’t enough to make me believe in myself. 

With everything in me I know that my true calling in life is in food. I don’t enjoy anything the way that I enjoy prepping, preparing, and serving food to others.  I wish I would have figured this out when I was young enough to believe in myself still. 

 

 

Disturbed & Awestricken

I was inspired to start this blog because of a ridiculous little show that actually got picked up for a second season somehow, called, rich kids of Beverly Hills.

RKoBH is a reality series that follows the lives of twenty something’s born into excessive wealth.  For those of you who have not seen it, you can only imagine how completely stupid this show is and how poorly it reflects on the over indulged youth in our society.4

This blog won’t be a rant about this horribly misguided misstep in cable TV history, but rather, a nod and a strong voice to the ins and outs of life’s little and big what-the-fuck moments.

In addition to bringing a voice to all of us who feel the same about these little things that ERK us on a day to day basis, this blog will also serve as a creative outlet to my writing and art alike.  Hold on little nugs, this is life. Its nearly never fair and seems to only favor the undeserving its cool though cause #YOLO.

Peacefully,
Amelia

Nothing is what it seems. This is as good as it gets.

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