Great Expectations
It's tough to be a conscientious kid
trying to keep your shit together.
I've lived it, and I am still living it.
Time, uncontrollable, bigger than
the ocean, rolling slow and then
crashing fast, and money just the
same, always there until it suddenly
isn't, and everything resistant and
ready to jump the fences of my lists,
to overrun the fluid borders of my
calendar. And I get it. There was a
time when a kid would just have
had to sink or swim, to fit into the
systems or drop away into the dark
and dirty bottom. My parents, raised
just on the other side of crisis, of
world wars and financial collapse,
brought up by parents with tightened
belts and great moral authority, still
carry the clear timelines and life
targets given to them, and so their
borders are sharp and do not bend,
and so they are impatient for their
children and grandchildren to dot
certain i's and cross certain t's, in
a time that demands certainty, where
all paths are definitions, and our
straight lines equal our worth, and
success is measured (as everything
is measured) in thirds- above or at
or below- and, yes, we have to have
standards and deadlines, maps and
efficiencies, and all the things that
did and didn't come before, or else
we fail one another, and we fail
ourselves, and this is how it feels
when we carry all the pieces of
other peoples' puzzles and we let
ourselves be measured and we let
go our options to define ourselves.
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