Windless

When I was little I hated school very much. I used to pretend to be sick just to get out of it. I don't know if pretend is the right word. Because the thought of going to school really did make me sick to my stomach. If I got to stay home I would feel much better, and then my parents would get angry at me for faking. But the point is that I hated school. I broke down one day in the car when my mom was trying to drop me off. I was crying and refusedg to get out of the car. I literally begged my mom to let me stay home. She eventually had to bribe me with a video game to get me to go in that day. Now you may look at that and think that I must not have wanted to stay home that badly if the promise of a video game could get me to go out. If you think that, well your not seeing the whole picture.

First of all video games mean a lot to me. I have had four life changing events in my life. Four. One of them was a video game. They were there for me when no one else was. So this wasn't some toy, or candy my mom had waved in front of me. Although she may have thought so. No this was a offer to stave off misery and perhaps suicide for another few weeks. That's how much it meant to me. Endure one bad day of school and receive what some consider a trinket, but it would serve to keep me alive for one more month.

Second take another look at the magnitude of what was offered even when the emotional value I place on the game is factored out. Games back then cost about $30 to $40 dollars. My parents bought me games for birthdays and Christmas, and even then it was only one game for each event. If I wanted anymore outside of that I had to save up my own money. I had a paper route then. It was not very lucrative, some months I lost money. And this was just for one day of school. Thirty bucks for one day.

I despised school so much that in my youth I tried to hatch a plan to get me out of it. My dad told me about a kid who collected stamps. He was so good at it that he dropped out of school. He never even learned how to drive, he just hired someone to chauffeur him. That's how rich he was. I thought if I could find some way to make money then I could drop out. I asked my parents about this because I wanted to be sure that I could get out. I didn't want to waste time trying if they were just going to keep me in school anyway. They said that I could on the condition that I could make more money than my father. To make sure they stayed true to their word I made them sign a contract. I drew it up and had them sign and date it, I even think I got one of my sisters to witness it. I still have that contract somewhere.


So I then had to try and figure out what I could do that might make me enough money to get out of school. Somehow I decided on writing. There were child labor laws that prevented me from entering the workforce at that time, I was still in grade school at this point. I could never earn enough mowing lawns or delivering papers, I was already doing that. With those restrictions there is not a whole lot a person can do. I figured writing a book was my best shot. I could crank a story out in couple of months and then I'd be free. It's now a decade of so later and I have yet to finish any book. But ever since then I have applied myself vigorously to the idea of writing. It became my goal, my dream. Now I'm out of school. I suffered through it and somehow survived.

The other day on girl's blog she made a post about describing yourself. I have been giving this a great deal of thought recently. If you were to write up a brief summary of who you were what would it say? What would mine say. Earlier in my life part of that summary would have said that I wanted to be a writer. Now, I'm not so sure. I asked myself "Why do I want to be a writer?" One answer that unsettled me was "You wanted a way out of school, you thought writing was your best shot." There were some other reasons but this one was rather crucial.

What if I don't want to be a writer? Is the only reason I tried because I was trying to escape school? I'd try and tell myself that "No, you desire is much more real and driving than that." But is it? What if the only reason that desire is there is because I hardwired it into myself in an attempt to get away from the pain my education was causing me.

So here I am. I'm stuck with this urge to write and yet I don't know if that's what I really want. Maybe I'm over thinking this. Lets say someone wants to escape poverty, or oppression, or any other adversity you might name. So they develop a talent to do so, is that wrong?

For some reason I feel like I have some purpose in life. It's like I'm supposed to do something. Only I don't know what that purpose is. I don't know why I feel this way. Maybe it's because in school they pumped my mind full of platitudes like "If you can dream it you can achieve it." or "You can accomplish anything you set your mind to." Then reality walks up and slaps you in the face. Yet I feel conflicted. I have heard many people say much the same thing as me regarding having a purpose. And then I have met people that are the opposite of that. One guy I knew shared with me that his life's ambition was to work at his dad's construction company, marry his high school sweetheart, get a house and have a family. I have nothing against any of those things. I even want some of them myself. But I also want fame, and glory, and power. That may be selfish but I can't deny that it's what I want. I feel like somehow my purpose is tied into that stuff, yet I have none of them. I feel like a kite without wind. How is a kite without wind supposed to know what it's purpose is?