Growing Up V. Selling Out
I can remember the exact moment that I realized who I was, wasn’t who I wanted to be.
There I was, 16 and punk rock to the core. My main focus in life was rebellion in any and every form possible. I had recently formed my second band (who put on one show, then split up because the guitarist was high and tried to stab me over the 10$ I wouldn’t lend him to score). My heroes at the time were Curt Cobain and Jim Morrison who both died before hitting their thirties from drug related causes. I wore jeans with holes in them from skateboarding, shirts with bands on them or whatever randomness I found at Goodwill. I would go to the mall on a regular basis with my friends to verbally pick apart the “preppy kids” with their department store cookie-cutter image. I had no solid opinions on anything political, social, or otherwise important to mankind. My only real concern in life was to get high and make a fool out of myself to make people laugh.
In my sophomore year of high school I met up with a friend to go meet the lead singer of one of my favorite local bands. Because I respected him then for his musical talent and showmanship, he’ll be known here as Johnny. At 32, standing 5’9” with stringy black hair down to his shoulders; Johnny was the epitome of who I aspired to be. Living in a run-down 1 room studio in a ghetto part of town, Johnny lived alone. His “Limbo” as he called it, “Neither Heaven or Hell, but comfy as well.” He told me one thing that to this day I feel was the most influential sentence I’ve ever heard. We walked to the mall and picked up some random things from the clearance rack at “Hot Topic” then strolled over to the adjacent middle school and got high on the roof. Under the stars, thinking that I was exactly where I wanted to be for the rest of my days, Johnny turned to me and said, “If I could go back to your age, I’d beat the **** out of myself and tell myself, ‘do whatever it takes to not end up here.’” He took a long drag off the joint we were passing around, blew the smoke in the air, then got up and left.
To this day I haven’t crossed paths with him.
15 year old me would look at 23 year old me and call me a sell out. At 23 I’m in the Army, married, and have a daughter. I’m able to live how I want to live and able to afford the things I want in life. 16 year old me would say that I’ve grown up. The big question is, “What is the difference?” The difference is 100% mentality. I still listen to the Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Misfits, and several other “The” bands who long since have faded out of the lime light. I still hate the government and think that it’s corrupt beyond repair. I still think certain people are “preppy,” but know that I look damn good in a suit and tie. I know that there are jerks who drive BMW’s and act like they’re better than me, even when I take the t-tops off my Corvette. I have tattoos but know that they have a deep enough meaning to me that I don’t have to show them off to the world.
I’ve grown up into the man that 16 year old me knew I had the ability to be and that 15 year old me wished he could be but was too “rebellious” to strive for. I was lucky enough to see the end state of where I’d be had I stayed in my previous mindset and how miserable he was. What I’m trying to get at is that there’s a point where you have to look at who you are and the person that you’ll become if you keep living like you do. If you don’t like who you’ll become, take a stand; you don’t have to sell out and forget where you came from or who you are inside.
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