The day after Christmas, I drug my eyes up to look at him from the Risk board, staring at my pathetic pink pieces paltry scattered across the board. Before I answered, I took a swig from my Holiday Magic Hat.
My heart just wasn't in it. I was only playing because 1) He loved the game, 2) I had given this to him last year and we hadn't even played once yet. and 3) My cousins expressed an interest in getting together to play a round, and it sounded fun (He'd convinced me it'd be more fun with more people) (Never happened, we played Wii and saw The Princess and the Frog, which I think was more fun, anyway.) (But at posting, willing to try the game with a group)
"Not so much." I said. I really don't like board games. What's the point of them? You don't get anything for winning, it's mostly chance of a card draw or dice roll. I just don't have motivation to win.
Furthermore, what the crap was the point of continuing a game like Risk when your boyfriend has 14 armies on Russia and he's coming for your three armies on Ural? Just take the damn territory already! Take the whole damn continent!
Maybe I don't have drive or motivation in general. I've never exactly felt that drive to be excellent. When I was growing up, I was stuck in this NF bubble of learning disabilities, social inadequacy, MRIs, Ritalin and ADD, it wasn't so much about being 'excellent' as it was 'getting by'. I failed most math classes fantastically, so when I scrapped by with a C or better, I was shocked and pleased. I was horribly average. Except for the fact I was weird and black sheep'd in every part of my life. I was the kindergartner who head butted people to say hello, I was the one who got so tremendously angry when no one understood what I was trying to express. I was the one who flunked state issued tests so badly I'm a little surprised I wasn't left back.
So no, I don't have a drive to win. I just have a drive to get by in my life the best I can. I'm not my sister, who seems to excel in everything she does and does not mind talking about it. It's just how it's always been for me. Do your best, and that's just fine. An idea that's kinda screwed me up, retrospectively.
That's how it's always been. Just get by. Get the work done, work harder at the things you actually enjoy, and get by. I suppose it's a "Why bother?" Defense.
The CIA was different. I wanted so badly to be good. To be talented, to kick ass. But of course, it didn't work out that way. My hands don't work the way I want them to work. My mind is uncreative and blahzay. I loved being there and I loved learning everything, and thinking and making mistakes and learning from them, and the chefs and the food and everything. But the drive to be excellent just wasn't there. I just knew I'd never be excellent. My hands psychically cannot do the things they need to do to be excellent. But I was never fond of making roses and silly gumpaste flowers anyway. But I wanted so much to be as good as my classmates. I wanted so much to tell my chefs and my classmates why I had such bad hands......
But maybe the drive just
The only thing I'm really looking for in my life is to be happy. Happy, independent, employed (double points if I love my job; triple if they like me) and be able to take care of myself financially, while having enough left over to spend on something fun.
Funny, because it doesn't apply to people outside of myself; I want to make bosses (Past/present/future/etc) succeed/happy and be as good to Matt as he is to me, and my family tolerant of me. But as for myself, I'm kind of okay with just being myself.
I'm not motivated to write for the NY Times, or teach at a culinary school, or work at a 5-star restaurant, make elaborate wedding cakes, or own a BMW, or Gucci for God's sake.
I'm okay with weird and kind of average. This is what you get with my toddler diagnoses. Being average is the best anyone could have ever expected. Average was above my expectations. Isn't that just so messed up?