idle

I feel small.
Insignificant.
Surfing the web, one finds numerous blogs, MySpace pages and other personal sites. Digital pages filled with words and sentiments from faces. Faces connected to other faces. Old friends, acquaintances, associates and co-workers.
Faces.
Bodies.
Networking.
Moving.
Destinations await. Physical and emotional landing pads. Institutions present certificates and congratulations. Men give rings and ask questions of matrimony.
And he says to himself, "I want to do something with my life."

Somewhere, I'm standing on a sidewalk while vehicles, passengers and pedestrians pass me at 500 miles per hour. Blurs of color, flesh and steel.
And I'm still.

Picked up the Sunday newspaper today. Flipping through the pages I reach section F, "Lifestyle." Pages two and three are dotted with black and white photos of happy couples. The pictures accompany wedding and engagement announcements. Young people with smiles as bright as fresh billboards. Young people with futures of home improvement loans, mortgages, smiling children and sunshine vacations. Achievements like tall statues stand proud in their past; their future is a promising garden.
Destinations reached.
Destinations await.
I say to myself, "They're doing something with their lives."
And I'm here. Still.

What have I accomplished?
There are no framed certificates dressing my walls. My desk isn't adorned with photographs of a smiling bride and fresh faced children.
Truthfully, I'm not looking to 'achieve' those things but many measure one's worth, or success, by his or her degree, job or family life. I suppose those things help establish one's self; a foundation is grounded and the American Dream can begin, the home with white picket fence is right around the corner.
Mr Upward Mobile says, "I want to do something with my life."
I ask, "Why must that desire be satisfied through the acquisition of products? Why this fascination with social status?"

One might ask: If attaining a degree or starting a family has never been a desirous goal, then why the aggravation?
The answer: An inferiority complex.
I don't want my intelligence discounted because I lack a college education.
I don't want to be slighted because my job title is "bus driver."
Even though I disagree with greater society's image of a 'successful' person, I allow that disjointed concept to affect me, hence the inferiority complex.
I have dreams.
I have goals.
I have feelings.
I have thoughts.
I have love.
And I am a human being.

"Remember this: The people you're trying to step on, we're everyone you depend on. We're the people who do your laundry and cook your food and serve your dinner. We make your bed. We guard you while you're asleep. We drive the ambulances. We direct your call. We are cooks and taxi drivers and we know everything about you. We process your insurance claims and credit card charges. We control every part of your life. "We are the middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we'll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won't. And we're just learning this fact. So don't fuck with us."
Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club

Somewhere, I'm standing on a sidewalk while vehicles, passengers and pedestrians pass me at 500 miles per hour. Blurs of color, flesh and steel.
My face reflects in an office window and a voice asks, "What are you waiting for? Tomorrow's regrets are today's fleeting dreams. Act."

mc