I feel forgotten and alone, like I have outgrown most of my surroundings and my people and myself and they aren’t catching up. The others, the ones that I haven’t outgrown, are different from me. They have kids and homes and spouses and jobs.
I’m going to be 30 in a moment. I’m ready to be an adult — a boring adult. An adult with a sportcoat and a briefcase and a desk. I feel silly walking around in a hoodie and jeans. I’m not a Californian or an East Coast club kid. I’m a scholar. I’m a scholar because I say I am and because my work is sound and my ideas are deep and can add something to the world. I’m brilliant and I have real achievements and experience. I have to be careful not to sell myself short.
I think innocent childhood and wacky youth and fashion and rock concerts look silly on some grown men of 30 and can only look sillier on me as I get older. There are things that I want to do, and things that I want to contribute, that are closed avenues to hoodie-wearing, keg-party-going jeans-wearers.
I also feel alone just now, like nobody who knows me is noticing me right now, just my muddy footprints and leftover pizza crusts. They’ll notice me later, and by then they’ll be surprised at where I’ve gone, because they won’t realize that they haven’t been paying attention, or even that they had me all wrong to begin with.
As I’ve said so many times before here, I’m going to bed.