My Hundredth Beginning
Here we go again.
Myself and all of my friends, the ones that remain, have spent our lives trying. We were the honours kids, the ones with bright futures, the ones that had our whole lives ahead of us. Well, some of us were. I was. It was all I had really - that hope for the bright future ahead of me. It kept me going, through ugly landscapes, it pulled me through.
But anyone who has read a millennial confessional knows the ending to that story already. So here I am, failed, on my hundredth try at something else. Trying to figure out who I am when I’m not just fawning, trying impressing people, lying to fit in, crouching low and caving my chest in to get an approving nod from someone who has never even cried to good music.
Well, here I am, writing to no one really. I used to write on the internet a long time ago, but I deleted it all when I worried it might hurt my chances at rotting away at an office job for the rest of my life. Later, I hid everything I ever put online because I was terrified of what could happen to me if someone misunderstood what I wrote - or perhaps worse, if they understood it perfectly.
I told myself that it was for the best - that being online was unhealthy anyway. That this meant that I could go outside more (I didn’t though). But the truth was, I missed writing. And writing in notebooks purchased and scattered around my home half filled out and then abandoned wasn’t good enough for me. There was something about typing it out, pressing publish online. Even if no one was reading it - the fact that someone could, one day…I don’t know. I don’t know what it is, but it’s different. It hits different as the kids say. Even as I write this to myself, with no one here to see, it’s different.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I kept up the blog I started when I was 14, writing about the shame and humiliation of trying to look busy in gym class while everyone else kept a wide berth to avoid interacting with me. Would I be a good writer now? Would I be happier? Have a better life? Would I be dead? Does it matter?
Maybe this is a thought experiment, a peering through the veil into another dimension. What if I hadn’t abandoned what I loved in order to try to be a part of something that never wanted me in the first place?
Substack recommended I say what this blog is going to be about, what it’s going to contain, and how often it will be updated. Well, I guess it will be about what it’s like to be here now for me, but also for a lot of people I talk to who are in their late 20s, 30s, and early 40s who feel like they are wandering through life confused, with ringing in their ears like a bomb went off right next to them. I’m also interested in how social media, greed, capitalism, and doomerism has really fucked us up. How it seems like appearing to be good is more important than actually being a good person. How saying the right words is more important than being honest. How it’s really challenging to access connection, joy, friendship, and hope for the future right now. But also, how I do have hope that all of this could change. There still is hope there, pulling me through, I guess.
I can’t say when I’ll be updating, but I’m going to try to fill up these pages while I can, while I feel the need to write things down like this. I hope I don’t delete this in a week, but I guess we’ll see.
And if you’re a real person reading this - hi. And thanks.
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