When I graduated from college, I had all this education (I thought) and all these great ideas (I thought) and people, I thought, should be banging on my door begging me to work for them. Alas, the world did not seem to have the same opinion of my talents as I did.
In that time, the economy was similar to the one we have now, and jobs were hard to find, particularly in the publishing industry, which was where I hoped to bestow the blessing of my wisdom. I ended up doing odd jobs for several months, and then eventually getting a job as a door to door canvasser, selling ideas. I learned a lot there—particularly about selling myself.
Throughout my life I was, as one colleague described it once, a failure of the market. That is, the market failed to properly price me. I was always being paid less than I was worth.
That was nice of her to say, I guess. But I had come to realize that if I wanted to get paid more, I’d have to sell myself (or my talents) to someone who placed a greater value on them. I was either too lazy to try to do that, or it just wasn’t worth enough to me work hard enough to find someone to value me. Or maybe I didn’t think I was worth being appropriately valued. I.e., even thought I thought I was owed a proper position, I didn’t really think I was worth enough to have it.
I have come to see that communism, lovely as it sounds, is not going to be practical. No one is going to take care of me the way I am going to. If I don’t think I’m worth it, no one else will either. I have to make a case for myself.
I think that when I thought I was owed things it was because I didn’t really believe in myself. I didn’t have any confidence. I wanted to be taken by the hand and lead through the forest so I wouldn’t get lost. It didn’t happen, so I had two choices: curl up in a ball and suck my thumb and hope someone would take pity and give me a bottle of milk, or start travelling through the forest and just face the fact that I would get lost.
It’s really no choice at all. We all go through the forest. We all get lost—some more than others. We all end up with scars all over us, and we all, hopefully, end up with the wisdom those scars buy us. And if we’re really lucky, we can actually use those scars as evidence we know something that might keep someone else from getting the same scars.
It’s up to you, of course. You can curl up in a ball and suck your thumb and hope your bottle filled with diluted milk will sustain you for the rest of your life. You can act as if the world owes you, and see how far that gets you.
You can also start trying to push through the brambles and thickets. You can learn to sell yourself well enough that the talents you think you have will be put to appropriate use.
No, you never asked to be put at the edge of the forest, with nothing but fire behind you and no choice but to attempt the brambles, or curl up in a ball, hoping for thin milk, and also hoping the fire doesn’t get too close.
In truth, the world doesn’t fucking care about you. It doesn’t care about any of us. If we don’t care about ourselves, no one will. At least, not to the degree we want—maybe feel we deserve. That, I’m afraid, has to be earned. Earned by acquisition of scars. Many, many scars.