God, Why Do I Get So Angsty? Or, #PrivilegedWhiteMiddleClassProblemz

Today, I was ready to throw in the white, plush towel. On top of being tested in some way in every class, I couldn’t find my words at all. Every minute was filled with some source of frustration: my dorsal surface acne vulgaris, the huge stack of dirty dishes, not understanding the Spanish test I was taking, making the wrong kind of media, incompetent people, and price of tea in China.

Then, I talked to my mom. She reminded me that stopping now means never starting again later. Quitting now, no matter what it is, means beginning is so much harder. It took me 17 years to prepare for college. I’ve spent three years preparing for whatever comes after. And, as it was in high school, every setback feels like a tragedy. As if I’m Aegeus watching my son’s black flag return from the sea, promising nothing but despair and the surety of death.

Then, I think, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

My parents have worked for the last 21 years to ensure I do something with my life. The love of my life came into my world and has inspired me to aspire for greatness. The teachers I have now have worked their whole career to prepare and enlighten young men and women, so they can be something greater than what their high school diploma grants them. And I just piss it back at them, as if it means nothing.

And what of myself? I work hard. I didn’t just go to school for three hours, drive for an hour and a half, and work for four hours to stick my thumbs up my butt and say “screw it.” I did it because I believe in something. I believe in myself, the people around me, and the world itself. I want to serve my community as a pharmacist one day, so I do what I can today: by attending school, working in the chemistry lab, doing diabetes research, and working in the pharmacy as a technician and cashier.

I love what I do, but, damn, I do get overwhelmed. Is that so wrong? I hope not. Because I can’t fix overwhelmed, but I can fix angsty. I am calling myself out: I need to do better — not more, but better. I have too much now and ahead of me to worry about the privilege of accepting opportunities.

I am grateful.

But very tired.

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One thought on “God, Why Do I Get So Angsty? Or, #PrivilegedWhiteMiddleClassProblemz

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