It would be nice if everyone could just stop being so super awesome and successful at everything for just a gosh golly minute so I can gather myself and catch up.
Don’t you feel like you’re constantly being bombarded with news of other peoples’ awesomeness? I do. And it’s usually people my age being awesome.
Do you know who topped the Forbes list as the number one highest paid musician in the world?
That’s right: the Swifty. A girl about my age who picked up a guitar and started writing mediocre love songs is a billionaire and topped the Forbes List over a band like U2. Or how about the Olsen twins? Two chicks also about my age who are billionaires, icons, and own their own fashion line. Or how about Lindsay Lohan? Also my age, except unlike Swifty or the twins, she now makes money for being so awful at things.
And for taking off her clothes and getting wasted and whatnot, but you catch my drift here.
In fact, some of you may recall my campaign to host SNL over The Lohan, wherein I compiled a list of reasons I would be a better host than her. And you know what? I was right. I would have been a better host. But it doesn’t matter. Because in spite of the awful reaction she got from people all over America when she hosted, her episode had the 2nd highest ratings of the SNL season. She’s so successful at being unsuccessful that she’s successful.
How can I possibly compete with that?
I shouldn’t care, but I kind of do. After all, how can I see list after list of people who are in their 20’s shooting into stardom because they made a Ryan Goseling tumblr or a site featuring cats who spell things improperly, or a page that documents what students say on hiking trails without somehow feeling like I’m missing some great calling to create something stupid and phenomenal that whips me into an Internet sensation?
I blame the Twitter Machine. It’s feeding me information so quickly about people who are young and fabulous and full of society-altering ideas and thoughts and it makes folks like me feel like they’re at the back of the herd. I’m the limping, cross-eyed zebra of the magical Interwebz, where young, blossoming starlets and dashing entrepreneurs are tweeting the view from the front of the pack.
I should probably just disconnect. How can I possibly feel like I’m accomplishing anything when Twitter is throwing top 10 lists of awesome possums at me and Facebook is constantly updating with engagements, marriages, house/car/pet/job acquisitions, and (Lord help us) creepy sonogram photos? When the world is constantly shouting at you the things that others are doing that are perfect and lovely, it can be hard to remember that we’re not all going after the same things and it’s okay to not be an OlsenLohanSwifty.
We just have to remember that we’re all on different paths. Mine is to have a blog where I talk about how I don’t like to do laundry so sometimes I just buy packs of underwear instead. Or how people leaving long voicemails makes me want to scoop my eyes out with a melon baller. Or how life is too short to get nervous about pooping in public restrooms. And while that’s not as profitable as a celebrity fragrance line or a TMZ headline or penning young chick country songs, it serves a noble purpose that only I can serve.
Because somewhere out there, someone has lots of packs of new underwear, a hamper full of dirty clothes, and reads my blog to feel better about it.
Keep on keepin’ on, person somewhere out there. You’re doing just fine. ♣