Fuck The People Who Know What They Are Doing.

How do you go from wiggly, smelly, crying newborn to a pretentiously proselytizing expert on any given subject matter? Perhaps you have spent years researching — gathering data, processing hundreds of thousands of bits of information to determine some remnant or possible truth — and then you put on your adult hat and you know your shit and you believe you are no longer a weak child but some godlike creature that knows more than others do. You’re fucking awesome.

I’m not awesome. I barely get by and I try to get things done and sometimes I manage to bs my way through things just like everyone else – however, I’m so very aware of how much bullshit is applied at any given time, and have no ability to translate that into some sort of forged confidence. I watch leaders be leaders and they seem to know so much more than I do, are so much more sure, more confident, more put together and prepared — less emotional, less empathetic (albeit the best leaders have enough fake empathy that the majority believe they have a reasonably high EQ) and that’s it, they’re successful, they move up the career ladder all they way through retirement learning $150k than $200k than $250k then $500k and $1M and on and on and they pay for a fancy house and nice dinners and perhaps designer clothes and a personal trainer and a nanny and private schools and one week trips each year to some exotic destination that they end up working from anyway and eventually they retire and join some non-profit board or two in order to feel useful unless/until they die and that’s that.

I just want to scream at the top of my lungs that I don’t know shit and I never will. I’m “this much” away mentally from the homeless people I walk by every day screaming to themselves on the street. Business is not human. It’s not what we’re meant to do. We’re meant to forage for food and water and sleep and make babies and repeat. We’re not meant to wake up at 6am to commute for 2 hours to sit at a desk all day to figure out how to convince someone to buy some product or to make a product that has no direct impact on our foraging or fucking (ahem, baby making.) At work, i’m surrounded by the overachievers, the people who always raised their hands in class and got A’s on the tests and who turned in extra credit even if no extra credit projects were assigned. When I leave the office at 6 they’re still there until who knows what time because they seem to love it or they don’t know how to live outside of work being their life. I, on the other hand, have no life but am too tired to sustain this so I just go home and pass out, or stare at my computer and then pass out, in a variety of variations of mostly just passing out and waking up to do it all over again.

And I’m the lucky one. I’m not being facetious. I’m genuinely super fucking lucky — I make a lot of money, I have no debt, I have insurance, I have THE LIFE and I should just suck it up and be happy and put my head down and do my job to beyond the best of my ability and just make this work for the damn rest of my life… I should just accept that this is business as usual that life is creating value for other people and that meaning even in its most astute rendering is equally meaningless, so I might as well just play along.

This is why, dear friends, I’m so fucking depressed. Why I catch glimpses of the high-speed trains rushing by and I think, not seriously, but seriously, but not, how just jumping in front of one would be so amazingly refreshing – the only escape from all of this bullshitery is to disappear. Will I? No. Because I hate pain and I hate the idea of not knowing what’s next and being buried underground or being smashed but still alive and who knows it could all be much worse. But thought still intrigues me because life itself is so suffocating. And I try to cling to the moments of happiness like waking up in my husband’s arms on a lazy Sunday morning and listening to the rain fall outside and feeling the cool breeze dance through the window onto my bare flesh. I try to embrace the moments when life is beautiful despite being so horrifically destructive and redundantly awful. I try to think positively, optimistically, to tell myself things will get better, that maybe I’m just in the wrong job or wrong career or something will come along and it will all make sense. Each year that goes by I stop believing that just a little more. I live in this surreal zoo where everyone is happy or playing so on tv and I’m sinking deeper and deeper into quicksand beneath my feet, but no one notices or cares to lend a hand to pull me out.

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