So I did what every person who has ever crouched in bed late at night, spilling your inky guts on to the page, fears most:  I went back and read some old journal entries.  I came upon the below and was startled by how different a place I could be in just four short years ago.

It’s a testament to the angst of the early 20’s.  The first dawning of the harsh realization that contrary to what you were told all throughout childhood, you really can’t grow up and be anything you want unless luck, smarts, and perseverance all create the perfect storm of life magic.

The poem was on the opposite page to the entry – a final rewrite of something I had been working on prior to the entry.  The prose came out as a companion piece.  I feel like they say almost the same things.   The paragraph breaks represent page turns.  I’m not quite sure why I’m sharing it other than the fact that I think everyone my age in my position in life goes through similar struggles.

Despite my apparent determination and conviction that I had everything figured out, it took me another three years from that point to leave the spirit-sucking corporate job I was trapped in at the time.   I came out thinking I was going to be a famous screenwriter and ended up working six years between two films studios, only at a desk, staring at spreadsheets with DVD warehouse inventories.  Kudos to people who get juiced from an office environment.  I almost envy you.

For me, the screen part left, but the writing remained, as I’m now one year down in a journalism program at USC.  Everyone puts on this air of panic as the big 3-0 approaches, but I think it’s mostly an act.  I’m glad to see the 20’s go.  Not that I don’t think a decent amount of what I thought then doesn’t hold true now, but it’s the anguish of uncertainty that gave that period the harsh edge.  It’s a lot easier of a pill to swallow in hindsight.

So to that, I say bring on the 30’s.  Time to start living life with my head screwed on.

*****

5/15/04 – 12:19 a.m.

A butterfly is born without first living
as a caterpillar.
An unassuming immaculate conception,
yet deprived of the wisdom of the world
(taught before the cocoon in scattered
doses of blunder and mounting
cynicism) Nevertheless…
Flying was effortless at first:
no one told the wings that they
had to stop flying at some point.

No one can ever prepare you for the spider web of decision making that defines existing in the midst of a first-world, developed civilization.  School means grades: the objective is clear.  Grades are for college:  once again, clear.  All of the posturing and all of the guidance does not account for the deaf ears of American children who are being forced to listen, though.  We are so obsessed with standardizing and quantifying as a culture that we lose sight of the human element as it becomes buried beneath a mountain of grades, stats, and acronyms.  There is a dichotomy at play here, a self-defeating process by which many young and privileged children are set up for disappointment in life.  parents become obsessed with the ultimate measuring stick of performance: the report card.  At the same time, though if these parents are like mine and found their drive and passion for work in the desire to provide a better, more comfortable life than what they knew growing up, they will be compelled

to bestow the rich fruits of their labor upon their children.  This cycle will eventually remove the initial motivation of desire from the equation because the children who have a comfortable life from day one will not be driven to obtain something they have always known.   The parents push their children to do well while unknowingly depriving their good intentions of a major catalyst.  Good grades and performance become necessities to appease the parents and in turn maintain the freedom and comfort.  The recognition of knowledge as power gets slighted because in most instances, achieving good grades not always require the acquisition and/or possession of knowledge.  Some people are likely born with an innate understanding of the need for knowledge.  If that thirst cannot be quenched with other, superficially alluring material or social vices, that person is truly lucky because they do not need to derive

their motivation from their environment.  In most cases, including myself, the human spirit has an abundance of inertia and the natural tendency is towards the path of least resistance.  When the focus is set on gaining standardized prowess, the thirst is easily quenched because the brain and body were not intrinsically parched.  This mentality can persist almost throughout college without causing any severe problems.  But if you coast through university and are not pursuing a career in finance, a law degree, a medical degree, or a career in engineering or computers, you are in no way a necessity when you set sail into the ocean of the “real world” with a flimsy diploma for a sail.  It’s somewhat ironic that the individuals who strive to gain the most well-rounded educations are the least prepared and a lesser commodity.  Even with a thirst for knowledge, a liberal arts degree is merely a small

stepping stone towards greatness.  So this is the dilemma I am faced with.  Twenty four years old and just now becoming familiar with the angst, the questioning, the unrest, and the desire to fight my own inertia.  To strive beyond my means.  Yes, being a doctor or a lawyer or a banker appear to be the more challenging paths at first, but once one summit is reached, the climb levels and the terrain becomes much easier.  And you will always know which direction you need to move.  To want to leave my mark in this world through something creative that originated in my own thoughts, musings, and observations requires a level of will and dedication I ahve not found within myself for a long while.  Everything else just pales in comparison.  Film is universal and I want my place in its history.  To touch so many people on so many levels all at once would be the

most fulfilling personal and intellectual accomplishment I could achieve.  I came out to LA with an English degree and a ton of confidence, hopes, and dreams.  The confidence took some hits as the world rapidly expanded before me.  The hopes and the dreams remain, though, and I am starting to see what must be done to make them a reality.  I’ve come close to laying down and giving in to becoming a desk jockey, but that would be the ultimate acceptance of defeat and a waste of what I am told is an amazing education.  But enough bullshit.  As long as I continue to write, themes will develop and ideas will coagulate.  The lifestyle will always be comfortable; I am lucky enough to be put in that position early in my life.  Now to do something that will satiate a thirst that is finally being provoked into prominence by a life that simply will not remain.