Discontent

Discontent. That's the only way to describe how it feels to want a life that you can never catch hold to. If only that word had a simple action that could erase it from your heart.

As a little kid, I knew that I would have a house with a pool in a suburban neighborhood where the median income was $120,000 a year. The idea of that income was equivalent to $120 million dollars in my childish fantasy. Still, I planned to rise early to a refreshing morning swim and drive off to my mystery job in a flying car (like the Jetsons).

Obviously, I grew up. I have a much better understanding of what it takes to earn that salary, pay for that house with a pool, and pay association fees to keep my neighbors homes uniform with my ideal suburban oasis. I accepted that cars don't fly (yet), but I still want the best on four wheels.

I went to school and got a degree that is little more than a conversation piece. Yes, I gained knowledge in an area of study, but it has done little to enhance my earning potential. I believed so strong that a master's could do what a bachelors could not; consequently, I'm told I'm overeducated. I see people that have used education to their advantage. I am sure it can be done. I've seen it on TV, in magazines, and in books, yet me and my peers can't find the answer to the riddle. "What do you call someone who goes tens of thousands of dollars in debt to pay someone to teach them things out of books that cost hundreds of dollars, but still can't figure out how to use the information from those books to secure a job that can repay the debt?"

I guess it's apparent that my discontent stems from the disconnect between the life I envisioned and the one I created. I take personal responsibility for trying to do everything right by the book. I don't even know how I was supposed to create something different. I mean I did what my parents said; what society said. I drank the higher learning kool-aid and it was laced with discontentment.