It’s really sad how many talented people there are out there.
I remember when I went to jazz camp in eighth grade, there was this girl who was so unbelievably cool, I couldn’t even conceive the kind of thoughts in her head. She talked about movies and books and music that I’d never heard of. He talked about making mix tapes of her own music for boyfriends who had tragically dumped her. She had bright blonde hair but the next year she died it jet black and cut it all off. She spoke French and wore glasses and made references to things that made absolutely no sense to me.
Facebook says that she went to a community college.
I mean, community college isn’t an absolutely horrible prospect, I suppose. It’s not most ideal either. She still has albums of her photography, mostly featuring the Space Needle in Seattle, where she ended up living. She wasn’t the only awe-inspiring (more) grown-up person from my camp. My counselors were hilarious and worldly beyond my comprehension, and they seem to be doing the same things they’ve always done.
I guess I’ve realized now that they were actually the original hipsters. Was there ever any legitimacy behind their identities? I really want to believe that a lack of direction and planning is to blame for their static existences, but if we’re being honest here, there are almost seven billion people in the world. How many of us can ever do something that will “matter” in the long run? I think that I need to redefine what it means to succeed. Not everyone will be remembered forever, and I just need to accept that I too will one day be forgotten. I think that’s why I write though. I want to believe that if I put enough of my self on paper, then a certain quality of me will never die, never disappear when my body is long gone. I suppose it’s quite conceited for me to think that anyone will want any record of my life once I’m gone, but I think that it’s simply of symptom of my fear of obliteration. Maybe the fear is jointed with my youth, and with that collegiate ideal that one can make a difference in the world; an ideal that has often departed most women’s minds by their thirties.
I don’t really know where to go from here.