What will make you feel even more depressed and less unique is that every other rich white kid feels exactly the same, if they ever stop to think about it.
Which therefore means that not only are you not challenged, you aren't even an anomaly. You can't even take comfort in being abnormal. Because if you were abnormal then you could aim to be normal and put effort into molding yourself into being normal.
But since the alienation stems from a distinct normality, there isn't any easy remedy. You can't simply say, "okay, well I'll just toe the line like everyone else and then I'll fit in and be just fine." There is no solution short of either actually becoming troubled or somehow submerging yourself into a deceptive stupor that doesn't allow you to look up and take notice of your lack of problems.
"Very sad. It is truly a sad thing when an American boho says fuck this and picks up and leaves this fucking tailfin and shopping plaza and war-crazy civilization and goes to live among the real people, the honest folk-type folk, in the land of Earth feelings, Mexico, and the hell with the tile baths- and then he sits there, in Mexico, amid the hunkering hardcheese mestizos, and, man, it is honest and real here... and just as miserable as hell, and he is a miserable aging fuckup with no place else to go." -Tom Wolfe, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, pp. 301
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What will make you feel even more depressed and less unique is that every other rich white kid feels exactly the same, if they ever stop to think about it.
Which therefore means that not only are you not challenged, you aren't even an anomaly. You can't even take comfort in being abnormal. Because if you were abnormal then you could aim to be normal and put effort into molding yourself into being normal.
But since the alienation stems from a distinct normality, there isn't any easy remedy. You can't simply say, "okay, well I'll just toe the line like everyone else and then I'll fit in and be just fine." There is no solution short of either actually becoming troubled or somehow submerging yourself into a deceptive stupor that doesn't allow you to look up and take notice of your lack of problems.
"Very sad. It is truly a sad thing when an American boho says fuck this and picks up and leaves this fucking tailfin and shopping plaza and war-crazy civilization and goes to live among the real people, the honest folk-type folk, in the land of Earth feelings, Mexico, and the hell with the tile baths- and then he sits there, in Mexico, amid the hunkering hardcheese mestizos, and, man, it is honest and real here... and just as miserable as hell, and he is a miserable aging fuckup with no place else to go."
-Tom Wolfe, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, pp. 301
Yep.
We'll talk more about this some time when I'm not up too late ignoring those around me.
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