Pre-Millennial / Post-Millennial
I was a millennial before millennials were potty trained. I suffered for being like a millennial for years as the environment I grew up in favored the whole over the individual. The society didn’t like those who shared details about their life, it was considered gloating, showing off, trying to be the center of attention — at its worst narcissism.
So I kind of stopped, kind of hid, kept to myself, found venues where being what I am was accepted, and traveled in limited circles trying to avoid making waves. My family approved. Any kind of attempt I made to get any recognition for anything I did was considered a source of shame by my parents. They weren’t raised like that, they didn’t understand why their son was a writer, painter, musician and computer scientist and why he had to share this with others online.
Famously my cousins from the father side dug up some of my. poems about a decade ago and took them to the Konya side of the family — somewhat sheltered, well meaning yet not quite this century folks. Oh the things I wrote were fodder for much family discussions after that. The smirks, the whispers at family gatherings never quite stopped from that point on. I didn’t care. My parents? oh they cared! In Turkey, it is considered the failure of the parents to raise a child that does not fit norms, does not work in a thankless job or does not start a business representing some foreign company as a franchise in Turkey. This is what Turkish men are to do. Get a source of income, get married, have children. Fail, Fail, and definitely Fail. So three strikes and I was out.
In the 1980s and early 1990s, Turks sandpapered rough edges I had over and over and over until I became a perfectly round cylinder with absolutely no edges in sight — or so they thought. The process of sanding my edges did not remove my edges, it made them infinite in number.
Coming to America was somewhat of a relief however the relief didn’t last long. It turns out it’s true, you take your baggage with you.
When I was set free in America I did not have some sort of an incredible revelation, a huge fruition of my creative capabilities and intellect. Quite the opposite happened. All those limitations, restrictions, and sandpapering was not coming from the Turks, it was coming from me. I was doing this to myself — trying to fit in, trying to not get swatted, trying not to piss of parents or someone else.
I blundered on for another decade or so. Only after my thirties the inner voice of “I no longer care” emerged. I couldn’t exactly tell why. Perhaps I ran out of people I tried to please and failed. When you realize you have just about pissed off everyone you can while trying your darnest to please them, you kind of hit this point where as the cool kids say these days zero Fs were left to be given.
Then the millennials arrived, and man they could be me better than I could be. I was immediately overshadowed, eclipsed, and completely lost in the infinite crowds of them needing so much attention.
To make matters worse, just when I had enough experience to feel I had something to say, I was starting to be not so young. When I was young I was told experience beat youth. But now more than ever before youth is more important — even if it means you have zero experience. “Who needs experience”, I’m purty!”. When I ask younger folk what they want to do when they’re done with their education, they say absurd things like I want to be a CEO and have my company. When asked in what field, or what type of product they would not have an answer, they just want to be head of something, anything and be famous for it. When I was growing up such an answer would subject one to extended ridicule and shame. Now it’s perfect ok to have such empty baseless aspirations, it is considered charismatic!
So you see while I busy growing up the system was busy changing all the rules.
The London metro frequently cautions, MIND THE GAP. Well I fell into that gap. I did. Never quite fit into the old world order of experience and gravitas, and I will never be young and uninhibited enough to shine in the land of narcissus that is run my millennials.
So I live in limbo, homeless, a gypsy in a no man’s land. It’s nice here, the sun sets four times a day and rises back again. Night time brings no fears no terrors. I made peace with my neighbors. To my left the oldies, to my right the young ones. I no longer expect attention or recognition. I probably couldn’t handle either one of them now that I think about it. I am not powerless, I am not helpless, I am not lost. I think I am exactly where I am meant to be.
Perhaps there really are folks that catch people about to fall off of the cliff while playing in a rye field. Perhaps I am one of them. And that’s perhaps the best thing I have done with my life.
