I’ve always known I was a selfish person. No way I could deny that one. But, I think that my current selfish attitude toward life in general is a result of the fact that I have nothing to show for my 24 years on this earth. I can’t be proud of my accomplishments, because I’ve never accomplished anything. I’ve always been a dependent.
It bothers me that nothing is mine. I’ve never owned anything meaningful as a result of my hard work. All I really have is this laptop, some clothes, and a few assorted homegoods, and these things were gifts (#firstworldproblems). I don’t have money or a career or anything that lends in any way to independence or pride.
When I was doing data entry for my boyfriend’s company, even though it was still his company, I felt that I was doing something that mattered at least slightly. Rebilling invoices won’t change the world, but at least I was making a contribution. What I was doing had an impact. It helped a little bit.
I want a sense of purpose again someday. And, yeah, I want it to be a lot more meaningful than some stupid job. A job will never define me, that’s for sure.
I’ve never had the chance to be brave and do something big on my own—like maybe tour Central America or renovate a fixer-upper. Granted, I know I’m shy and highly sensitive, so I sometimes need to be coddled through life transitions. But I also like to be challenged and experiment with new things, without other people breathing down my neck and telling me I’m doing it wrong. Like I said, I’m selfish. Sometimes I just want things for me. I want my own things, my own experiences, my own accomplishments.
Pretty sure I’ll never have them, though.