Don't sell out on ideals.
Had I not read an unpublished post by Justin, I would likely be remnants of an explosion created from self-induced pressure to strive for a perceived American dream: employment. I lasted one day as sales representative for a marketing business that reduces credit card fees by making pitches and gathering signatures door to door. I tried to rationalize with the idea of helping local businesses save money and that an hour and a half commute was worth the commission. I claim the label of temporarily irrational.
I am likely exaggerating on atrocities involved and understanding that beggars can't be choosers, but I refuse to be surrounded by aspirations summed up by the phrase of "make mo' money." Helping people is good, but I quickly understood that it wasn't necessarily the drive behind the suited people involved. Plus, if I ever become convinced again that driving for three hours per day is acceptable, I beg you, dear reader, to take my foot out of my brain.
My mother mentioned that she'll hope for the day I am successful career wise in such a way that was measured by a salary higher than her own. Me dreaming of such seems salacious considering that my scope is a bit worldly, acknowledged lofty and idealistic, but more perceivably realistic. I know love, and I know it could be daunted by greed and submitting to financial motivations and its slavery.
Thank you, Justin, for what you wrote. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for showing me what it feels like to have someone care and for discouraging me to pursue something akin to soulful torture. Thank you for your positivity and your willingness to help. Thank you for enabling me with love and granting me confidence. Thank you for not letting me let myself get sucked in a world I despise. Thank you for existing.
I love you Emily.
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