I want to be a screensaver designer when I grow up."
My roommate said this one afternoon while we contemplated my current After Dark screensaver, Bad Dog. Her thought brings up two issues.
First, I'd like to know exactly how much time I have squandered staring at my screensaver this term. Last term, this was not a problem. If five minutes elapsed without my sending a blitz, playing Snood or progressing on a current paper, then little white clocks flashed around on a black background. Not very exciting. I would rather clean my UGA's bathroom than stare at flashing clocks.
This has all changed since I acquired After Dark. Now I have fish, flying toasters, or super guy adorning my screen. Too often I catch myself just watching the screen to see what will happen next. I would fear that I am the only person who just stares at her screensaver when she should be studying for tomorrow's midterm, but basically everyone who enters my room feels obliged to contemplate my screensaver. If this bizarre After Dark addiction worsens, I regret that I will have to eliminate this program from my computer and burn the CD.
Then there is the second issue of "When I grow up, I want to be a _______." When I was seven, I could fill in this blank with anything, and my uncles would just nod their heads and say, "Well, maybe you will be." I could have been a ballerina, an Olympic diver or even the President of the United States.
Now, at 19, I will not be any of these when I grow up. I can barely touch my toes, let alone float through the air; I lost a contact lens during the swim test, so now I have a personal vendetta against pools in general, and why would the American electorate vote for someone who has not even registered to vote? At 19, I have ruled out three careers.
Hopefully, I will eventually rule out enough careers so that I can determine what exactly I want to do with my life. Returning to when I was seven, I did not have to know then what I wanted to be "when I grew up." If my uncles quizzed me about my future, I could solemnly admit, "I don't know," and then run off to play tag with my cousins. Now at family gatherings, I feel a bit pathetic when I admit I don't know what I want to do with my life.
And if I show a bit of honesty and explain that I would love to get involved with the making of movies, I feel even more pathetic. Coming from a family of lawyers, engineers and one college professor, I should desire, well, a more "reliable" career.
I suppose I find it disheartening that when I grow up, chances are, I will not be extraordinary. Mostly I think this because I do not consider myself a person of extraordinary talents. My mind and imagination are keen, my interests are strong, and my desire to live a full life is true. But I am not the best at anything.
Yet this realization does not distress me. All things considered, I am grateful for my keen mind and strong interests. Though I keep hoping I will stumble upon some extraordinary talent, like Irish dancing or glassblowing, I am not losing sleep over the fact that Tara Lipinski has a gold medal, and I don't even have a major. Extraordinary people are not the only happy people. And I think it would be pretty cool to design screensavers.
