Confusheroism

Everyone likes learning new terms. Here's today’s “term of the day”:

QUARTER LIFE CRISIS.
www.quarterlifecrisis.com: “a period of anxiety, uncertainty and inner turmoil that often accompanies the transition to adulthood.”

Wikipedia: “a term applied to the period of life immediately following the major changes of adolescence, usually ranging from the early twenties to the early thirties. The term is named by analogy with mid-life crisis.”

While I go through my quarter life crisis, I invent new characters. This one is a superhero. Yes, he is fictitious, and no I am not scizophrenic.  Yes, he is a dog. And the “C” well, naturally, stands for “CONFUSION,” which I decided today is an extremely heroic state to be in.

So, you might be asking yourselves...what the heck does Confusion have to do with heroism?

Let's face it people. If Confusion were a heroic state, I'd have more capes than freaking Superman.  Not that I fantasize about future little children sitting in classrooms a hundred years from now, leaning their chins on their hands, staring up at the domed-city skyline, and thinking, “Wow, that Liz…what a HERO she was!”

I mean, come on. What I’m going through now is not even close to heroism. I only try to boost my own little self-esteem to distract myself until there is conclusion to all this nonsense of the quarter-life crisis.

It is not so much my object to necessarily be a hero, but to SUCCEED,

 whether it is at waitressing - one of the most underappreciated and challenging jobs in the world - where I have watched people smaller than me carrying huge trays full of food with one hand above their head through a crowd of people with more grace than an olympic gymnast - all the while I cause near concussions with my small tray of two empty plates.

Or, being a flutist.

Or, a writer about music:
http://clefnotesjournal.com/yahoo_site_admin/assets/docs/BSO_Review_3142009.8995711.pdf

Or, well, myself:
“Ooohhh well,” I say, blushing. “Its nothing, I’m so glad you can take them off my hands. I just couldn’t finish them.” (I hand over a fresh, unopened bag of donut munchkins to the New England Conservatory Admissions woman.)
“And by the way,” I say, turning back from the exit. “How’s that wait list looking?”

Or, being nice about rejecting others.“I appreciate all the scholarship money and all the effort you are making to have me come to your school, but…”

But seriously, being a hero involves making decisions when you don’t have all the facts, rummaging for answers where there are none, taking advantage of opportunities but with a free addition of guilt, and certainly, not everyone who is a hero necessarily intends to be one.

There are REAL heroes:Willingly being confused in attempt to make a PLAN means I plunged myself into the deep end of the deep intimidating river (no pun intended…ehem, Hudson), swimming violently towards happiness, security, self-assurance and a NONCONFUSION.

Sometimes I imagine Enrique Iglesias pleading with me, "Oh Liz, let ME be your hero!"  

Perhaps, later in life, I’ll discover that my only real purpose was to jump in front of a bus in the middle of a big city to save the life of a tiny little African chimp who wandered in front of it. (Who cares that African chimps don’t show up in big cities? Don’t change the subject.)

In order to make something of myself, going to grad school, making money, having straight hair, and all the while not getting addicted to caffeine, thinking over a major decision is not like swimming, but rather like quick sand in a hole. The harder you dig out, the deeper you get.
That is the way of things.

Here’s a good part: I am, just by being what I am, I guess, a hero.

To conclude my randomness, I’ll use the words of the President:
“If you're walking down the right path and you're willing to keep walking, eventually you'll make progress. “
Well, Barack, in THIS quarter-life crisis (never mind the financial or terrorism or general world crisis), I hope you're right.

(Thank you to google image and everyone in my life who has taken the time in the last few weeks to have heart-felt, exhausting, at times LONG but extremely valuable conversations with my about my current life decisions, for your assistance. You didn’t necessarily sign up for it, but as a result, are my heroes.)

"The wind beneath my wings."