You could die today, you know. So could I. For some of us, such thoughts regularly niggle at our minds, irrespective of whether there’s a good reason for them to tug at our attention. I’ve tried to turn that almost ever-present sense of mortality into a source of motivation—a way to help me live the life I dream, rather than sleepwalking through most of it. So I guess it won’t come as any surprise to you seven that when I read this over at B.W.’s place, I had quite an intense reaction.
And the reason why I haven’t commented sooner in this space is because I didn’t want my response to be too personal—I don’t know B.W.’s commenter, “CK”, and I didn’t want to give the impression of attacking him or her. But last night, as I lay and waited for sleep to embrace my mind, I realized that a large part of my reaction to CK’s comment arose from the attack s/he mounted on my friend—one I am all too familiar with. And thus I cannot let it pass unchallenged.
I grew up a dreamer, in a family that was barely scraping by. Best I can recall, my earliest thoughts focused on the many wondrous things I could do, and be. Any time I mentioned those thoughts or ideas, however, I was laughed at, or ridiculed—not just by my siblings, but my parents (and their siblings) and grandparents too. I’m not completely sure why ... perhaps it was fun to bait the overly sensitive kid; perhaps I reminded some of them too much of their own idealistic beginnings, which somehow went awry; perhaps some were simply mean, small-minded individuals ... but the “why” matters much less than the result: before I learned to keep my dreams and fantasies to myself, I started to believe the shit heaped upon me. I could never accomplish my dreams, not even a one. I wasn’t smart enough, clever enough, well-connected enough, motivated enough, perseverant enough ... no matter what the dream, an objection was ready to shoot it down. And I think I believed them all; worse, I think I believed them because I trusted “my elders” to know more about my self and my ability to make it in the world than I knew.
By the time I hit high school, and my mother started making encouraging, supportive sounds regarding my intention to pursue college and post-baccalaureate education, the years of derision had left me wary and skeptical of her (apparent) change in tune. It was appreciated, and undoubtedly helped me; but the mixed message created its own oscillation of uncertainty in my mind. Flush with an infusion of self-generated confidence and encouragement from her, I’d start on something; but then the doubts would inevitably creep in, sometimes aided by others’ commentary, sometimes by my own Inner Critic, and sometimes from the difficulty or scope of what I was trying to accomplish. I’d set the project or goal aside, and my failure to complete it became one more piece of evidence showing that they were right: I couldn’t succeed.
Earning my Ph.D. was a milestone for me, in an educational sense but—much more importantly to me—in a real and deeply-felt Fuck You! sense to all those critics, myself included. However, despite that considerable success, I continue (as is well-documented in this space) to struggle against that deeply-internalized well of doubt. I need no external critics these days (although there are some around me); my own mind is capable of running the litany at a moment’s notice.
You may be wondering at this point what all this has to do with CK’s comments ... it should be clear now that when I read his words, I heard all those critical voices from my past. And the stone-solid message underlying his words, and their words throughout the years is this: Don’t bother trying. You won’t make it; and it isn’t worth it. Better to play it safe. (And, I confess with deep shame, I did some of that with my stepsons, before I realized that I was unthinkingly continuing a pattern I loathed.) But of course, by choosing that course we doom ourselves to an unfulfilling life, a life of mediocrity and time-marking and unendurable boredom, occasionally punctuated with landmark events that loom, then wane ... boulders in a river as our boat drifts by.
But there’s no reason I know why we have to choose such a course. “Quotidian” and “exalted” are not necessarily mutually exclusive concepts: the first definition given for quotidian is simply “daily”; the second is “usual or customary”. Why not make a pursuit of greatness quotidian? What’s wrong with making a custom out of trying to improve oneself or achieve a dream? To be sure, one will not succeed every day—but the trying is in and of itself a rewarding activity. And if one doesn’t try, failure is guaranteed.
Here’s what I think: people like some of my family, and possibly CK, either do not have dreams or are unwilling to expend any effort into making their dreams real. Therefore, whenever such a person sees someone else merely considering going after a goal, he or she has to shut it down. So they attack, in whatever way they think will work. And for all but the hardiest of dreamers, their methods have the effect on the dream that a pin has on an inflated balloon.
Well, fuck that shit. And fuck them, for pushing their shit onto others. I think John Taylor Gatto was on to something very important when he said:
I’ve concluded that genius is as common as dirt. We suppress our genius only because we haven’t yet figured out how to manage a population of educated men and women.
By “we” I think he meant both the educational system and to a lesser degree the mainstream populace. That latter group probably isn’t as actively opposed to greatness as the attackers I’ve been discussing, but neither do they defend those who pursue their dreams on ideological or philosophical grounds. They’re just a muddle in the middle. But, Gatto continued, concluding thusly:
The solution, I think, is simple and glorious. Let them manage themselves.
I have my quotidian struggles with achieving that. Much of that comes from within, rather than without, these days ... largely because I have difficulty not interpreting others’ critical comments as an attempt to shoot down my dreams—and thus, as something of a personal attack. Irrespective of the source, though, now that I have reframed the dynamics, I doubt that I will give the naysayers nearly as much credence as I had in the past.
Or, trust XKCD to neatly condense all I just said:
Edited to add: I forgot to include this observation in my ramblings above, but it’s crucial: the state, with all its purported protections and other nanny-ninnying, is just a less-personalized dream attacker.
Self-Doubt
I am very familiar with self-doubt aided by others' cruel commentary. I have never been able to be the person who plays the corporate game: keep your head down, punch the clock and don't make waves. And I have tried. Tried to the point of being so miserable I've been nearly ready to blow my own brains out at times.
Well, as you so aptly put it, FUCK THAT SHIT! I have things that I want to do, and will do, even though I presently have no idea how I will accomplish them. I will find a way. And to all those critics, especially the inner one that is so fond of repeating others' criticism: FUCK YOU!
I have dreams that I have never been able to kill...Even years of self-doubt induced paralysis have not been able to kill them. I will be paralyzed no more!