As I was writing a letter to a friend -- people still do that, believe it or not -- a sobering thought hit the page before I even had a chance to consider what I'd written: What would the Me from ten years ago think of the Me now? And while I have little interest in what 17-year-old boys think of me, it was still disheartening.

I suppose by not owning a Ferrari or dating a model or two, I was bound to be a disappointment, but I think the real underlying sentiment is what do I think of myself now, honestly? I could easily deflect the question by saying, it's not the current station that matters but that I feel that I am on the right road, but that's bullshit and I know it. Besides, I am full aware that I am not so much on a road as desperately looking for the on-ramp right now. Not an uncommon sensation for people my age, or even people of other age groups given the current political and economic environment, but that hardly makes it any easier.

On mother's day, I called my mom, as all good sons are supposed to do, and at the end of the conversation, she repeated a sentiment that she has handed to me quite often during my life. To paraphrase, she would frequently tell me that I am meant for Great Things and that I had the potential to surpass my brothers and sisters. No small task given the crop of overachievers I was raised among; our ranks include one doctor, two lawyers, an engineer or two, a teacher, and so on. (Apologies to the "so on.") I have always felt myself the black sheep among them, for having chosen the more uncertain liberal arts path, though I was rarely if ever derided for it. I suppose they were more curious how I was going to make it work, and frankly so am I. I guess the one thing that never wavered was my belief that it was going to work.

The one area where I have wavered, though, is my dedication, and by that I mean my perseverance through the difficult times, faith in my abilities or at least my ability to manage, and more than anything, some discipline. I often wonder if maybe I'd be better off if I'd gone to military school early on, just for the structure that I seem to lack. I mean, look at me, up at 4 AM, writing on my weblog when I should probably be writing something more productive, or better yet, in bed. (Though to be fair, I'm still getting over the food poisoning.) The answer I inevitably come to is that, sure, I'd probably be better off if that had happened, but somehow I doubt I'd be after the same pursuits. But who cares, really? It's all just mental masturbation anyway.

That said, I have only recently come to consider how my mother's Great Things "compliment" can actually be poisoning in a lot of ways. For one, it sets some if not unrealistic then at least difficult-to-meet expectations, and it creates a heightened fear of failure that, more often than not, leads to doing nothing at all. It's hard to fail when you don't really try. But this all sounds disturbingly like a cop-out, and I'm not one to play the Blame-My-Parents-For-My-Shortcomings game.

So no, I'm not happy with where I am, though I do feel like I am soon to discover something that could put me on that road. (Even if that sensation is false, at least it keeps me motivated.) I've done things in the past that showed me what I am capable of, and I feel like, if I could just get back on that path (or another like it) that I could be satisfied. Well, maybe not satisfied, not to the level of complacency anyway, but moreso than I am at the moment.

I have the overriding desire to add, "And that's one to grow on!" But I won't. This isn't mean to be some dippy, Up-With-People pronouncement of self-esteem. I've just had enough with people (okay, one: Mom) questioning my state of mind these days. I'm fine, dammit. If I wasn't, I'd likely be out holding the local KFC hostage with a spork instead of blabbing on here, and I sure wouldn't answer the phone when my mother called.

Anyway, as I said, I really should be in bed. I have All-Right Things to do when I wake up tomorrow.