Reluctantly Yours

I am of a generation (by birth, not by choice) that has been accused of loathsome self-involvement, undue self-confidence, and an overall lack of understanding of the pulling-yourself-by-the-bootstraps world of America. And, if we’re going to speak in broad, patronizing generalizations, than, yeah, I guess you’re right. Because the internet especially allows anyone who thinks they have something important to say about whose boobs they touched last week or the process of making vegan scrapple is able to put it somewhere and pander for an audience while posting semi-clothed shots on MySpace via a Flickr account that’s also linked to their Facebook page, there’s an air of self-obsession that seeps through the computer screen. Like so many others, I have believed since childhood, that my particular worldview is fascinating to others. I would like to believe that this is a result not of the “everyone is special” movement in primary education, or the internet age (to which I came rather late -- I didn’t have regular internet access until 2003), but because I have always been a raging egomaniac with a superiority complex. Just because no one has confirmed my utter brilliance, doesn’t mean that I’m wrong. Right? Right? It’s a dilemma.