But let me make it perfectly clear, I'm over it. I'm over the "Under."
It is pretty neat that I'm friends with pretty cool people who are friends with pretty cool people who Forbes also agreed are pretty cool.
Shout out to my RILL GURL Shauna, and fellow Holton-Arms School for Girls alumna, Clara.
I would also like to give a huge shout out to Forbes for making me feel totally inadequate. Like I have somehow wasted 27 years of my life. After reading each bio, I mentally followed it up with my imagined concluding sentence of "And what have YOU done with your life?"
Apparently nothing Forbes-worthy. I'm not exceptional. Unique. Innovative. Groundbreaking. Enlightening. Nor am I important enough to occupy 3 inches of website. I wake up, I go to work, maybe go to the gym, grab some drinks with friends, or go to a show, then head home, check my personal email, check my work email, check my Facebook, check my Instagram, check my Snapchat, watch some British detective series on Netflix while I fold my laundry I FINALLY REMOVED from the dryer after about 3 days, put on my phone alarm, complete my daily ablutions, check my personal email again, check my work email again, and go to bed. I'm average. And if I didn't already realize this, I have Forbes to thank for reminding me that I have done nothing deserving of a paragraph.
Am I jealous? Absolutely. But not because I don't have a headshot and blurb. Please, I can do that all on my own:
JENI SUE BIRNBAUM, 27
Self-Imposed Corporate Slave & Sometimes Freelance Writer (Again, for self)
In 2013, Jeni realized she hated L.A. and moved back home to live with her mother. Her roommate also happened to be her boss, so her workday ended... never. At her job, she attempts to provide the best customer service, and by that we mean she's the staff member most willing to bend over her desk and take it without saying "I'D RATHER YOU STOP." Day after day her company gets paid for her to be cyberbullied. She credits her success to "Client-induced fear."
I'm jealous because these people listed seem truly happy. Their success seems to stem from the fact that they love what they're doing and are passionate about it -- which seems to give them energy to do more! If I'm careful with my energy reserves then I might just swiffer my bedroom! Might just! Might. Just.
I'm not really angry at Forbes. Forbes is just an innocent bystander in my mental, penetrating hate glare. The public loves a good list. I get that. I'm angry that they just remind me what has really been making me upset -- the fact that I don't feel I've lived up to my potential thus far -- that I'm not doing what I can, and what I WANT to be doing.
Any time a new work email pops up, my mental reaction is: "WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS????" (~Dorothy Parker), but physically, my fingers and the keyboard translate that rage into this: !!!!!! : ) !!!!!!! OF COURSE !!!!!! THANKS !!!!!!
I will show up, I will work my ass off, and I will go home after with enough energy to consume 2 episodes of a "Kardashians" marathon. But I don't want to have to do that. I want to wake up and instead of flopping out of bed pulled by some imaginary "Fantasia"-esque broom magnetism, and somehow propelling myself towards an office with a cubicle next to a sad tree that I have been tasked to water after I ACCIDENTALLY uprooted the lil guy whilst transporting him (her?) from box to pot.
I want to wake up every day and go somewhere actually WANT to go. I want to finally be excited to get up and work on something that is constructive to pursuing my goals, my dreams. I want more. I wanna be where the people are. I wanna see, wanna see 'em dancin'. Walkin' around on those... whaddya call 'em Oh, feet. (I know at least 2 of you joined in with me there.)
The other day, I was on the phone with my friend who started reading off the blurbs of some "Under 30-ees," and I had a rare reaction. "STOP. YOU NEED TO STOP. BECAUSE THIS IS MAKING ME FEEL BADLY, AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS ANYMORE." I snapped. I became unhinged. All because a magazine was saying "These 20-somethings are better than you." They're more talented. They're more efficient. They're more creative. They're more EVERYTHING YOU'RE NOT. At least that's what I was hearing.
I've basically just complained for a few/a lot of paragraphs. Well done, you. You somehow made it through without rolling your eyes or saying "DO SOMETHING, THEN!" How "Girls" is this post? "Blah blah blah upper middle class white girl upset about life status blah blah complaints complaints whining, why isn't life fair." COME ON WHITE GIRL, QUIT YOUR YAMMERING. STOP HAVING PANIC ATTACKS ABOUT HOW YOU'RE NOT OK THAT YOU'RE NOT OK AND FORCING ME TO DO MENTAL OLYMPICS TO GET BACK TO YOUR MAIN POINT IN YOUR COMPLAINGUMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE WHEN THERE PROBABLY WASN'T EVEN ONE. You didn't say that, right? It's OK if you did, just don't tell me. But I get that! I need to DO SOMETHING.
And that's where this changes.
I took a break for a year. No, I didn't technically take a break, but I did decompress from my 4.5 years in L.A. D.C. was my L.A. rehab. And now that I've finished recovery, I've woken up from a daze. I need to move towards what I want to be doing. Because doing nothing but wishing and hoping gets me nowhere. Doing SOMETHING is my next step. Doing something means I'm in motion towards someplace I'd rather be.
(/rant)
So for now, that means writing more, and committing myself to my faithful readers. You are out there, yes? Hello! Hello? Hello. I'm just going to trust that you're there.
And I guess if this blogging thing doesn't pan out, I can always pick up a nom de plume and write a trashy romance e-novel. I welcome all tittle (typo, and it stays) ideas in the comments.
kisses!
jsb
