Every few days I am overcome with bursts of intermittent restlessness. This restlessness is usually just mental, but every so often it manifests itself physically. I try to think of the physical uneasiness as a positive thing, for it usually inspires me to go to the gym, but the mental disquietude has really been getting to me.
The physical restlessness probably stems from my desire to travel and to see new things. In my old room at Skidmore I had a map of the world up on my wall, with pins marking off the many countries I want to visit before I die. I miss looking up at it and feeling invigorated by it. Unfortunately the walls at Rutgers aren't very pin-friendly, so when I am struck by the need for travel I just imagine things. At the moment I am thinking of Von Humboldt's journal about the nocturnal life of animals in the primeval forests of South America. He so vividly described the transition from the certainty that daylight in the jungle affords to the fear of night in the wild, marked by unidentifiable animal noises and blackness, where the human is no longer the predator or the spy. I imagine what that would feel like, to spend an entire 24 hours or more in a jungle like that (preferably with someone else), and how radically different that would feel from the safe dullness by which I am currently engrossed here in the comfort of my desk chair.
My mental uneasiness is probably due to the fact that I've been thinking a lot about my future. I love that I don't know what it promises me. At the same time I feel the need for my life to be meaningful in the sense of its being edifying and fulfilling. I think of all the things I'd like to do while I am still relatively young: world travel, Peace Corps, some sort of PhD, published ethnographic writing, sky diving, learn a few more languages, how to paint....
And then I am reminded of the things I need to do. I need to be able to take care of my parents as they grow old, to provide for my mom. How can I do that with the meager salary that any of my prospective jobs would provide me and still hope to accomplish all of those individualistic things? Am I being self-centered?
Today I read an interesting article called "Pricing the Priceless Child" about the nature of childhood in the United States over the past fifty years. The author wrote about how previously children were much more productive and useful in contributing to their family's well-being, whereas now children are raised to be much more individualistic and are not expected to contribute much or anything at all; instead parents are now selflessly spending tremendous amounts of money on their children's education, cultural enrichment, and living expenses without much economic return. I myself am a product of this kind of upbringing. I worked a number of odd jobs growing up, but the money that I earned was always dispensed into my checking account; I never contributed much to my family's financial well-being. The article made me think about how disturbing this emphasis on individualization could be if it leads to familial neglect. I don't want to neglect my parents [even if they do drive me crazy] and I don't want to neglect my dreams.
The physical restlessness probably stems from my desire to travel and to see new things. In my old room at Skidmore I had a map of the world up on my wall, with pins marking off the many countries I want to visit before I die. I miss looking up at it and feeling invigorated by it. Unfortunately the walls at Rutgers aren't very pin-friendly, so when I am struck by the need for travel I just imagine things. At the moment I am thinking of Von Humboldt's journal about the nocturnal life of animals in the primeval forests of South America. He so vividly described the transition from the certainty that daylight in the jungle affords to the fear of night in the wild, marked by unidentifiable animal noises and blackness, where the human is no longer the predator or the spy. I imagine what that would feel like, to spend an entire 24 hours or more in a jungle like that (preferably with someone else), and how radically different that would feel from the safe dullness by which I am currently engrossed here in the comfort of my desk chair.
My mental uneasiness is probably due to the fact that I've been thinking a lot about my future. I love that I don't know what it promises me. At the same time I feel the need for my life to be meaningful in the sense of its being edifying and fulfilling. I think of all the things I'd like to do while I am still relatively young: world travel, Peace Corps, some sort of PhD, published ethnographic writing, sky diving, learn a few more languages, how to paint....
And then I am reminded of the things I need to do. I need to be able to take care of my parents as they grow old, to provide for my mom. How can I do that with the meager salary that any of my prospective jobs would provide me and still hope to accomplish all of those individualistic things? Am I being self-centered?
Today I read an interesting article called "Pricing the Priceless Child" about the nature of childhood in the United States over the past fifty years. The author wrote about how previously children were much more productive and useful in contributing to their family's well-being, whereas now children are raised to be much more individualistic and are not expected to contribute much or anything at all; instead parents are now selflessly spending tremendous amounts of money on their children's education, cultural enrichment, and living expenses without much economic return. I myself am a product of this kind of upbringing. I worked a number of odd jobs growing up, but the money that I earned was always dispensed into my checking account; I never contributed much to my family's financial well-being. The article made me think about how disturbing this emphasis on individualization could be if it leads to familial neglect. I don't want to neglect my parents [even if they do drive me crazy] and I don't want to neglect my dreams.
I wonder how I'll manage. I wonder if it's going to be as hard as it now seems it would be.
P.S.
James, I am sorry for stealing your pen.
NOT!
Just kidding, I really am.
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1 comment:
Sounds like you're going through a crisis. I can help you for a small fee.
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