Friday, 11.11.05: More Angst
For all my palaver yesterday about youthful angst and about my father's moment of adulthood, I can't think of any momentous turning points of my own.
Is creating melodrama for yourself a way of staying in your comfort zone?
For all my shyness, for all my copying of agonized poetry from Bartlett's -- could I have actually been a happy-go-lucky adolescent? What a distressing thought.
A thought: is creating melodrama for yourself (whether privately or all-too-publicly) a way of staying in your comfort zone? A way of avoiding those tough transitions? There's a nasty thought.
When I worked at the Institution, I used to laugh at well-paid high-status co-workers who whined about being "overwhelmed" -- didn't they not know how to manage themselves, had they gotten promoted beyond their competence, or did they maintain a state of exhausted swoon just to keep expectations low about their performance and to avoid change?
It's really easy to analyze everyone else, isn't it?
When did I first start making "adult" decisions to leave my bookish comfort zone to take steps toward being a grown-up? My mother once told me (maybe when I was a teenager) that she never got really fat because she'd never been really skinny -- from childhood she'd always been aware of the consequences of eating too much. Maybe some shy, bookish people learn early what leaving their comfort zone feels like and that there is a predictable course through agony back to comfort.
Oh, now I'm just making stuff up...
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