I've Lost My Misdirection

I remember when I was 16. I used to look at all of the older people, people who gave up on their dreams, people who quit rebelling, people who'd resigned to the daily drudgery of work-a-day life, and I used to SWEAR and PROMISE an oath stating that I would never give in!! I would never stop rebelling; my dream would be realized because I would keep pursuing it, never succumbing to the American MACHINE!

I had a cause. I had a passion. I was smarter than everyone. Never, ever, under any circumstances would I stop being 16. Mine was the job of grabbing the world by the balls and giving it a good healthy yank.

"Wake up, world! Open your third eye and let the enlightenment dilate your mind!"

Despite how intelligent I thought I was, it never occurred to me that it was extremely improbable that I was more intelligent than 4 billion people, most of whom had seen much more of the world and life than I had. I was so sure I had the solution... to something. I was SO sure, that I could totally understand why teens never listen to anyone. I wish I had the same confidence today.

It's interesting to see the difference between then and now... less than ten years. I experienced and consciously observed the loss of my rebellious ideologies, a conversion that took four or five years, from larva to adult. I can remember, rather clearly, points of confusion, in which I knew that I was supposed to rebel against The Man, The Establishment, or something, but... but... the responsible, freedom-crushing route just seemed to make so much damned sense that I wasn't sure of what to do.

Now, I have completely shed my old exoskeleton and it has blown away in the wind. I go to work everyday, pay my rent and bills, watch television and wish that the neighbor's kids wouldn't make so much noise. I've given up on my dreams. I've resigned to the daily drudgery of work-a-day life. I've given in. I've quit rebelling. Just like everyone else.

Sometimes, I try to rekindle the old me. "Down with The Man," I snicker as I pencil a dirty poem onto a public bathroom wall. Tee hee. "Don't oppress me," I whisper as the cop walks by me with a profiling glance. Grrr. "You can't contain the truly free," I whimper as I enter data into the computer in the cubicle in the building where I'm employed. Sniff.
 

Jason Katzwinkel
Hinsdale, IL, USA