I’m sorry to make another depressing blog post, but when you’re underemployed like I am (seriously, being underemployed is almost as bad as being completely unemployed) there isn’t much else to occupy your time with. So, I’d like to tell you about something that JUST struck me as I was taking a pee literally two minutes ago. (Yes, this is normal for me. Most of my ideas happen at night or at other random times).
All my life, I have been the person who is just BARELY good enough.
Starting in the 4th grade, I transferred into a somewhat elite private elementary school where most of the students were rich. Most of them had also been together since kindergarten. I was the odd one. I came from a solid middle-class family and I arrived later.
In high-school, I somehow found myself best friends with with who was to become the eventual valedictorian of our graduating class. She was Type A and gorgeous. I was type F (For Fuck This School), and incredibly awkward looking. (I remained so until I was about twenty-one years old, at which point I transformed until “somewhat cute/acceptable”).
Near the end of high-school, I applied to (and was rejected) from UT Austin. Through the CAP Program, I was able to attend UT Tyler (where I met my first ever boyfriend, who, I must say, also fell into this “barely acceptable” category), maintain a GPA of 3.6 (through absolutely no effort) and transfer to UT my sophomore year. Once again, I was just “barely good enough” for one of the most distinguished public schools in the nation. Still, I was there.
At UT, I spent a good three years dithering about, not making any lasting friendships and not spending my time wisely in extracurricular activities that might have helped me in my future career path. NEVERTHELESS, the spring after I graduated college, I somehow found myself once AGAIN being accepted into a prestigious program that I wasn’t deserving of, The New York Summer Publishing Institute.
What I guess I’m trying to say is that throughout my life, I’ve found myself being given things that I neither worked hard for nor truly deserved, and I think it’s finally come to bite me in the ass. The “Real World” isn’t school. You don’t automatically receive things for having a certain GPA or having a degree from a prestigious university (although Ivy League schools might be an exception). You have to show that you’ve worked hard, that you’ve done something worthwhile with your time, or that you know who to talk to to get in.
And what frightens me is that I haven’t.