In examining the world around me, I constantly find myself longing for something more.
Over time I’ve become extremely tired with my current, mostly static environment, one that I still have around a year to revel in before the onset of college. Example: I went on a spur-of-the-moment excursion today for a nearby town’s annual neighborhood yard sale. The majority of that time was spent marching through a small town sidewalk hell hole in overwhelming heat spying nothing but baby clothes and grimy rom-com DVDs. Such a scene serves as a textbook example of what I hate about my current location, the fuel for my daydreams of mid-century minimalist abodes and illuminated action cities. (Don’t get me started on how today’s sights support my attitude towards society as a whole, or we’ll be here all day.) I insist that my reveries are not entirely selfish, though it is impossible for any human being to truly escape their innate ego. All human beings have the right to live life in the way most fulfilling to them; cruel societal barriers say otherwise.
The only items I acquired on my misadventure were found far away from those goons in a completely different part of my area, in the much shadier suburban driveway of an older yet lively woman who was inviting and didn’t have a vengeful Trump sign hanging outside her residence. My finds screamed of hope chest material: A classy button jacket for when the weather gets chilly, a simple red and silver necklace to spruce up dinner dates that I’ve never been on, and two matching cummerbund sets for when me and my future hubby want to have some fun at fancy dinner parties. All this investment for six dollars. If you couldn’t tell, I’ve thought out what I’d like my future to hold quite a bit.
I am fully aware that, in order to make my hypothetical future happen in some capacity, I’m going to have to work. No matter my determination level, I’m still going to have to negotiate with everything else happening around me. Both roadblocks to progress and unexpected opportunities are guaranteed to emerge and run me off track. My plans could very well become fragmented or shattered entirely.
It’s also hard aspiring to resemble one’s heroes in life, even though the circumstances they gained their success under have gone extinct. Comparing the past to the present is a natural reflex—for me, at least. Too many assume that our present is automatically better than our past solely because, according to some, the forward movement of time always signals a positive societal progression. This is not the case in a world as chaotic as ours, and if anything that trajectory is burrowing deeper and deeper into the pits daily. While I do witness many notable changes occurring on a societal scale, these changes are rarely positive. Bigotry and idiocy continue to be normalized, causing most attempts at progress to function as largely meaningless, superficial pandering. Knowing that the world you live in is a much tougher sell in a multitude of ways than it was even ten years ago isn’t comforting, especially when it feels like the end of the world is always just around the corner. Time machines don’t exist, and the flying cars that were promised to us decades ago are nowhere to be found.
I’ll be in Kent, Ohio in four days to observe the grounds of its college campus. It will not be the Kent, Ohio it was years, months, days, seconds ago, despite being probably best known for its undeniable history. Maybe Kent State will fulfill the hopes I’ve set aside for it. Maybe it won’t.
All I can do right now is wait.
