A rebel with out a cause, reason or purpose

I finally know what angst is, I think. At 17 when most people are going through what is often described as angst I was calm, cool and collected.

It was in a study hall where I sat reading my 4wheel & off road truck magazine or drawing a maze or something that had nothing to do with anything when my concentration was broken by two girls. One a blond the other with short black hair, sat face to face heatedly discussing conflict with and over boys. I couldn’t focus on proper gear ratio to tire sizes with that cakle behind me.

I turned around. “Get over it.” I said to a pair of blank deer faces in my head lights of contempt. “This is just high school.” I went back to reading about tire tread and what works best in sand, mud or on the road.

That’s the kind of teenager I was. It lasted pretty much until I was 27 and finally finished college. Being in my mid twenties in a college town gave me unique insight, but not really. It was high school for the smart. Luckily the college was large enough to find people like me or like I would have been at 20 and in a 4 year college.

So finally out into the real world (that does not really exist) and a job I stopped liking three months in and I felt something begin to boil.

Let me back up.

In college between term papers I wrote. I wrote a lot. Show ideas where pitched to HBO and indie markets and there was interest but I couldn’t turn a dime.

Now I sit at a desk for eight hours biting my fingers to nubs and espouse random sarcasm from myself and a few other coworkers. I once had day dreams about my own cube and now it is my three gray fabric walled nightmare. I continued to write

When the money wasn’t there and the promotion after a year then two years never came I boiled over. As James Dean’s Jim Stark shouted to his parents I too wanted to shout to my boss and coworkers “You’re tearing me apart! You say one thing then he says another and everybody changes back again.” Welcome to my day job.

At the age of twenty-eight not eighteen, I was developing this dormant anxiety with no source and no outlet. Tormented everyday by not doing what I thought I would at 28.

Turning twenty-nine only made it worse. 365 days to make my dream come true. It almost did that year.

I began to understand Jim Stark and why he drank and drove fast all the while just looking to fit in. Everyday at work a rebellion takes place. From the sound of my alarm at 6am to my boss’s tip of the week on efficiency - I rebel.

Passion for a different life style fuels my 31 year old teenage angst. I don't have a reason that can explain why I want the life I do.

We all have a rebel in us. It's that need to tell the boss off and flip a desk. Reasons be damned sometimes it just feels good.

About me is always nice

I was born in Paris only to discover I didn't speak French and was forced, mistakenly, to Australia where I learned to play the accordion. At age nine I quit my job wrestling crocodiles and took the next flight to Vienna to study art. I put the brushes down and picked up hang-gliding. After falling in and out of love I awoke with a head ache in Sub-Saharan Africa where I used salt for currency. I took a steamship to the US and to my astonishment was unable to buy things with salt.

This is generally how I like to describe myself and that is about all the personal information I will divulge. Currently I am an author and work a day job that I don't always enjoy. The day job will remain anonymous for the purpose that currently I need to keep it.

Working a day job while pursuing a new career that is painfully slow to launch is tough. The term doubling often pops into my head. The one thing I will divulge about my job is that I attempt to make peoples career dreams come true all the while dying on the inside. I call it doubling because I have to act enthused by placement numbers and people who believe they should be given a job with good pay simply because they paid for a certificate that says they are qualified. Sorry.

Doubling is a tern often applied to Nazi doctors. During the war, WWII, Nazi doctors routinely treated people (mostly Jews) in concentration camps. It was their job to ensure the slave labor was well enough to continue to work until systematically murdered. How can a doctor heal a person who's purpose is to die?

Well I help people find their dream job all the while struggling to discover mine.