Rejection emails can blast through the late night with the same severity a sunny blue sky can muster, when you can at least day drink the disappointment away with some help from the comical goriness of Santa Clarita Diet.
But when it’s past your bedtime, and you were still filtering through the daily luxuries of friends and friendly strangers on Instagram, with the ill-fated final glance at your over-cluttered inbox, that best resembles your present state-of-affairs, the only thing to do after you internalize what you predicted because “life be like that most of the time” is to revert back to when phones weren’t the last thing you caressed before lights out.
Not getting what you want isn’t acceptable in this era of influencers and their worshippers, who truly believe they don’t need trust funds in order to replicate the meteoric rise of their privileged and fickle mentors.
We’re constantly bombarded with imagery that showcases how living your #bestlife is as seamless as sending request emails to pricey lodgings in exotic locales, that feature backdrops that will drive your fanbase wild with envy as soon as #selfies splatter timelines with hashtags, that solidify your entry into the club that is anything but exclusive.
I’m surrounded by younger and very confused acquaintances who are talented and energetic, but somehow don’t have a clue how to parlay those skills into a personalized fit, that isn’t desperately trying to translate the outlandish rule of success that can’t be garnered by gallivanting all over the globe in search of what has already been discovered and over-exposed.
Of course the traitorous nature of the media and the sellout mentality of big name brands don’t help to minimize the pressures of having it all without exhibiting any of the signs that validate blood, sweat and tears.
The code of the streets encourage the falsehood of having everything based on the good fortune of being able to afford what it takes to curate the life you want without restrictions, and definitely without the buzzkill of rejections.
For most of my adult life, up until the last few of years, there was a level of comfort that came with being somewhat in control of the outcome of my decisions, particularly when it came to career.
But I now have to contend with the updates of societal ills, and how I’m competing with folks who have the necessary resources to make dreams come true, and whether or not they’ve earned the right to dwell in the bubble of weaponized privilege really doesn’t alter their reality.
Reputable publications have no qualms celebrating the billionaire status of a barely 21-year-old socialite, who has paid the equivalent to a year’s salary to fund her surgical procedures, and still has plenty left over to launch a thriving cosmetic line, that propelled her to unimaginable heights because of the reality TV show that has been her home for over a decade.
Hollywood wives and mothers were recently spotted posing for pics and signing autographs outside the court house that summoned them for the crime of fraudulent behavior, as it pertains to tricking the system on behalf of pampered offspring, who are too dumb to fight for the American Dream based on merit, like immigrants from “shithole countries” tend to do with zero complaints or handouts.
The narrative dominating social media platforms is coined into the habitual need to boast about the wonderful shit that’s happening or going to happen.
TV stars who have amassed a modest following, are naturally awarded book deals to share the stories of trials and tribulations that eventually led to breakthroughs, just in time to capitalize on the trend of diversity.
These are the stories we want to hear, and those are the testimonies that matter, and the lucky ones who’ve been anointed for that task, turn it into Insta-stories with highlights of what exactly goes on behind-the-scenes for a burgeoning author who doesn’t need to be a writer to write a bestselling memoir.
The glitzy announcements and confirmations are only intimidating when comparisons are made, and you realize that the odds aren’t in your favor.
Truth be told, happiness isn’t based on material things because I’m the kind of person who can be lying on the floor of a marble paradise overlooking scenic trails, and wondering how long it would take for my dead body to be found.
My major complaint comes from the frustration of feeling out of place in this communal undertaking, that dictates why you can’t relax during the mandated breaks of uncertainty, when you’re not at all sure that everything will work out, and somehow that doesn’t make you feel like a pathetic loser.
I chose to share the disappointing news about being denied admission into one of many fellowship programs because if I had scored an invite, there would’ve been the brief temptation to post the the news for all to see and “like.”
Social engagement shouldn’t just exist as the portal that can only manage the #dopeness of rising stars or the blissfulness of engagers who have mastered the art of being happy all the time, with the handful of disruptions that never make the cut for well-manicured scrapbooks.
When Fast and Furious star and R&B crooner, Tyrese Gibson, lost his shit while battling a painful episode in his personal life, the actor who can also add life coach to his resume, was trending for weeks, based on the viral video that vividly captured the mental anguish of a beloved star, who wasn’t shying away from the ugliness of his plight.
Tyrese later blamed it on a really bad reaction to prescription pills, but the truth is that it was refreshing to witness the unfiltered clip that was bursting with raw emotions, that were evidently too graphic for most viewers, who couldn’t handle the embarrassment of a celebrity’s complete breakdown.
He even received public criticism from fellow celebs who chided him for not having the common decency to grieve in private as opposed to demeaning his manhood with dramatics that are usually associated with the weaker sex.
It’s never comfortable witnessing the broken temperament of another human being, and while he has given me much to bitch about, I was inspired to applaud Tyrese for being generous enough to own his truth through the transparency of his struggles as a devoted father, who was being challenged beyond reasonability.
Why is it only acceptable to provide those epic moments of monumental achievements or #bestliving, without the chaos in-between, that actually produces the crops for longevity in this pool of shallow contenders.
The dangerous messaging that certifies that we can get whatever we want, whenever, because everything has a price, is flourishing with menacing authority, thanks to horrid reality TV shows and ailing industries that never even bothered to initiate counter attacks due to allegiance to the almighty dollar.
I guess my mantra is to basically take ownership in the pride that comes when not getting what you want is acceptable and healthy.
I’d rather live my #truelife and save the #best for those who can afford it.