How did I get here?
I think my memory after the age of around 13 is reasonably good. My preteen memory is a disaster, consisting of a scattered group of semi-organized snapshots and movie shorts. I remember the sand box in the back yard, I remember finding flash bulbs at the base of the Mexican pyramids, I remember walking with the old lady who always walked her dogs by our house - first Tosse, then Erie (or maybe it was the other way around). I even have one very early memory, from before I was two years old, of eating in our kitchen while my younger sister was being born. I probably remember the more tragic events better, or at least more vividly.
After about the age of 13, my memory comes close to approaching a more linear narrative. But I'm sure there are some very serious flaws. I recognize that the same events visualized by different people, especially siblings, will be remembered differently. Both memories will be both wrong and right.
So if memories can be imprecise, is it also possible to have them be completely fabricated? Almost certainly.
I often wonder how memory works. How in the organic chemical goo between my ears are memories stored. Anytime I try to read what is known about this, I get technical answers that, even as a chemist, I don't understand and I think the authors don't either, or I get rehashed: Short term memory is stored in the frontal lobe, long term memory in the hippocampus. I guess I really do not like biochemistry now any better than I did in college.
Buy the Ticket and Take the Ride
Jerry: "What did you wanna be?" (when you grew up)
Elaine: "I don't remember , but it certainly wasn't this."
What happens to life goals as we get older? Our youngest life goals are ludicrous, but the most aspirational. Becoming a superhero or a princess isn't going to happen, but those are some of the loftiest goals that anyone will ever have.
Things change as we get a little older to something slightly more realistic - cowboy (whatever that is and probably still unrealistic), fireman, principal, race car driver. If we could all just stick to those goals, there would be a lot less paper pushing bureaucrats and middle managers. Still, there is a phenomenal amount of us who end up as faceless people doing jobs that, frankly, blend into obscurity.
All this makes this commercial from monster.com appear very funny, when in reality it is scary and absolutely tragic.
As years go by faster, the older I get, the goals change too. Adolescent goals of "being the boss" or "become and astronaut" seem to evolve into "getting a job in the pharmaceutical industry" or "working in a technology job." The reality is more likely "working in an office" - a nameless, faceless office where Friday afternoon is anticipated by noon on Monday.
Maybe the problem of demoralized expectations littering the floor lies in their origin in employment. Little kids get asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" We don't ask them, "Who do you want to be when you grow up?" That may be because it can be too painful of a question to ask internally. A waiter at a chain restaurant can always aspire to start his own business. A person who is financially successful, but is really an asshole, will probably always be an asshole.
And time does seem to pass that much quicker with each year - something I've only recently begun to understand. At the age of eight, one year is 12% of life, and summer seems to stretch on endlessly. At 44, one year is just over 2% of life so far; that year goes by much quicker than the eight-year-old's summer. At 15 years of age, almost everything is new. Every year older makes it harder to experience anything novel.
Life IS good. But I'm not sure this is the ride I paid the price of the ticket for...
Thoughts for the Next Year
Tim Kreider wrote something recently in the way that only Tim Kreider can. There is a small quote in this that resonates deeply:
"...the life I ended up with, much as I complain about it, was pretty much the one I chose."
This might be tough to stomach, but is probably true. I'm here (we're all here) because of every decision that has been made, both the good and bad. Some of this is out of personal control, but much of it isn't. It is a pretty good place, but it is hard not to compare it to some mythical idealized state. Sitzfleisch.
David Brooks talks about this but not loudly. He whispers it. Instead of worrying about whether a tin pot shines or is dented and faded, what is the interesting story, that ends up with a dented and faded tin pot?
As another year has gone by, my hope is that I define myself less and less by what my employment happens to be.
What is important should be what I've done, even things which might seem trivial.
So what will I be when I grow up? I don't know.
But...
I am a person who loves travel, prefers the company of dogs, loves being outside and living in a rural area, enjoys riding bikes and long contemplative dog walks as well as learning through reading and writing...
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