Sunday, February 21, 2016

Musings of a Frustrated Mind

You are special.

That is the one sentence that everyone seems to have grown up with. In my generation, if not others at least.

It’s weird because I don’t actually remember my parents ever saying that to me. It’s not like they would console me for not coming first, or saying that I was meant for better things if something didn’t work out. Quite the contrary in fact. What was expected of me is what I assume most Indian parents expect of their kids, study hard, get good grades, get a good job, work hard, and raise kids to probably follow that cycle again.

And I haven’t always delivered on the promises of that cycle to them.

Yet, somewhere in that cycle, in the middle of Jeffrey Archers and people that think differently, it came up and engrained itself, “You are special”.

And I’m not alone.

But that’s the issue, isn’t it? Not everyone can be special. At least not in the conventional way. Not every one can be an over achiever.

Not even close, in fact.

According to a study that had gone viral quite some years back, our generation grows up being told we’re different and special. And with social media around to ensure that we know about each and every person’s smallest achievement, we end up with bigger complexes about ourselves than any generation before us.

I was once told by a friend, who falls under the category of being 'special', that I was not considered by his group of other ‘special’ people, as an over achiever. I was, let’s admit it, normal.

And I couldn’t really stand it. It hurt me to the extent that it hurt our friendship, and I never really could open up to him as much anymore. But, was he really wrong?

I spent my Saturday sleeping all day, and intermittently checking facebook to see three different friends being called to speak at conventions as experts. People have been called back to our alma maters as guest faculties. People have their own companies. People have quit their jobs to travel and write. And I spend over three hours on the road each day, working my ass off for a job I don’t necessarily love (it doesn’t matter that I’m good at it), growing fat, and losing the skill of writing.

How does one get out of this rut?

How does one believe once again, that you are, in fact, meant to be special?

Or does one just accept, that maybe, you’re not? That you chose this.

And this is how life will be, always… Normal.

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