It’s been a good year since I’ve really focused on work. In this time I’ve made all sorts of excuses, all along the lines of “I don’t really know what I want to do…so I am not doing anything”. This is not an uncommon sentiment post-beat generation and especially, post-economic downturn, so I’ve been getting away with it. But maybe I really shouldn’t.
It is, after all, a luxury that I am at Harvard, fed and clothed by my parents. If I didn’t have them as a sort of security, if I were to face the world alone in six months, I’d surely be panicking now that I have no job and no serious academic prospects.
Basically, I am afraid that my idealism and maybe my personality is resting on some delusion — that money doesn’t really matter — a delusion perpetuated by my parents willingness to put up with my sponger tendencies.
I want my identity to be independent, so I need to be financially independent.
