On New Living Arrangements

Recently (yesterday) I moved into a new house that I'm renting with friends. For the first time in my life I am truly living on my own. No parents, no deans, no responsibility! Just friends and fun. Or so I would love to believe. In reality, this new found freedom comes with its own unique set of responsibilities. There's this horrible nuisance called rent that they tell me is going to come due once a month, as well as a bill for utilities, insurance, and a plethora of other fiscal burdens. All of this, in reality did not phase me. I paid my security deposit and first months rent with an equal share of trepidation and proudness that can only be found in new mothers. As I walked up the uneven cracked cement steps, key in hand, I was filled with a wildly exhilarating feeling. Freedom! I inserted the key into the lock and turned the handle, almost crying out with joy. Then I stepped into the sun room. I had only seen the property in the daylight and it looked homey and inviting. But at night the house could only be described at frightening. I checked my phone expecting to see a message, "Hey, it's the producers of paranormal activity, we want our house back so we can start filming." Now I wasn't frightened of rent payments at all, I was afraid of ghosts, apparitions, or axe bearing men in hockey masks. That's why I will be eternally grateful for roommates. Every time they wake me up with their cackling, special friends, or (god forbid) rap music, I will smile. Better noisy friends than a gaggle of grisly ghouls!

On Egos and the Unexceptional

I firmly believe in the necessity of being constantly reminded of ones commonness and ineptitude. Without this reminder I tend to begin to see myself as gods gift to mankind, only second to his son, who was sent to save the world from sin ect. ect. This bloated sense of self-importance has come from a most fortunate mixture of schools with impossibly low standards for success and a completely irrational self-association with those infinitely more talented than myself. I can’t bring myself to believe that I was born into this world with this overlarge ego. I’m told that I was quite pleasant and unassuming as a child. No I fear genetics are not to blame. In light of this fact I must assume that I picked up my ego somewhere between 8^th grade graduation and receiving a high school diploma. Perhaps it spawned from the Adventist systems assertion that graduating from 8^th grade is an honorable occasion. Far be it from me to deny that learning basic math and reading sills should be celebrated, but perhaps I, like Asian cultures, believe that only true genius like graduates of medical or dental schools should be truly celebrated. Milestones are a fine thing to celebrate but at what cost? Unrealistic self-images in the youth? More likely my false sense of self-worth has been born out of the seemingly singular American belief that the individual is supreme. That self-expression, whether extraordinary or extraordinarily common should be encouraged. America where a positive self-esteem is valued over a good report card. Sure we’ve got the education system that’s on par with a third world countries (and even Ghana is right on our tail) but at least we know we value ourselves. Perhaps my skewed self-image has come from a mixture of these things but regardless of what roots my enlarged ego has, only one thing is for certain. That it exists. So thank god for those who bring me down to earth.

Most recently I had the luck to meet an English professor (and not just any English professor, the head of the English department) at an out of the way University of little consequence. I, in all my glory, decided to condescend and respond to a job offer posted on the university web site. The interviewee was required to complete a short grammar assessment. Why, I ask myself even to this day, knowing full well that my grammar skills are comparable to that of a second graders, did I believe I should take an interest in this job. Again I must blame my absurd sense of accomplishment. Sure I did well in English comp, but that’s only because of a little thing I like to call spell check. So, I waltzed confidently into one Jan Huluska’s office and asked to take the test. He obligingly gave me a copy of the test and sat me in a cubicle of an office so that I could take it. Of course I found the test much above me but I did my best and handed it in, hoping to quickly escape with my pride in tact. But for whatever inane reason, Dr. Huluska decided to grade it in front of me. I watched as he mercilessly struck his red pen against the paper. Finally he said, “We’re looking for the truly talented at Southern, you my good sir are nothing be ordinary.” I left feeling like the carcass of a opossum that had been run over a hundred times; nothing but a tuft of fur with a hairless tail still feebly hanging on.

While I must admit that the superiority complex that it lends me is very helpful with condescending to others it also leaves me with a bit of a disconnect. Because I keep the bar held so high I must constantly make allowances for other daily mistakes and imperfections. “Being perfect is tiring,” I like to tell myself and the life of a genius is a lonely one after all. Just look at my good friend Vincent Van Gogh. But in the end I realize how completely off base I am. That is why I am so very thankful to the truly brilliant, the Dr. Huluska’s, out there who are able to remind me that I am completely and terribly average. While I must admit to myself that I won’t be saving the world from it’s sins anytime soon, it’s nice every once in awhile to feel uncommonly common; to feel like one of the masses, part of the crowd. Perhaps therein lies the true genius, the genius of being unexceptional.