Actress and writer, Lily Tomlin once said, “No matter how cynical you get, it is impossible to keep up.”
In a world full of Paris Hiltons, Enrons, deadbeat daddies and George Bushes, it is hard to push one’s cynicism about the world aside. Even when your doctor loads you up on Prozac and your mom keeps sending those valentine and birthday cards every year, count on the world to bring you back to where you left off and will always be.
Some people call themselves nomads; they hop on jet planes to try and escape their lives. In the past, I have lived the life of a nomad. Moving from my home of seventeen years to an east coast city, I thought that I could prove to myself that the world I knew and lived wasn’t really it at all. Since high school, I’ve done and seen a lot of shit. I’ve seen the day to day of the lower-class Irish Americans in south Boston that drink malt liquor only to pass out on stained mattresses. lived with a man who cries in his sleep, and sympathized the sorrow of a woman whose husband left her after twenty years of marriage.
Others call themselves spiritual; they leave their bitterness with a god, hoping that a specter will take away the weight of their world. I have tried loving Jesus and living by the creed of the Bible. Growing up, I was tossed around from religion to religion. In grade school, I was forced to go to Mass twice a week. On the weekends, my dad would act out in defiance of the Catholic Church, and more so, my mother, by taking my brother and I to peculiar Pentecostal and non-denominational arena churches. Looking back, I seriously think my dad used the yellow pages to find those churches. I never understood any of it. Not even the Catholic Masses I attended the most. I have tried my hand at faith, but nothing about it keeps me interested in what I believe is the life of a sheep that can never be who it wants to be.
It is now worthless to blame anyone or anything for how I am today. Therefore, I am not here to do such a thing. I am here to tell you that my life of high expectations has only made me more forlorn. I believe that no faith, place, person, or thing can destroy myself as a cynic; the only destroyer is myself. To expect nothing from everything except for my own self is a virtue. Now there’s something I think is possible to keep up with.
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