For about an eighteen month span in my early twenties, I was extraordinarily self-interested. Filled with delusions of grandeur and whatnot. Of course, my later teen years found me focusing mostly on me, too. But there was something different about those early twenties.
It wasn’t really brought on by anything either. Sure, I was living in D.C. and working for an organization where the median age couldn’t have been more than 25. Sure, this was The City and I was All Growns Up. But this episode had very little to do with external factors. I’m not saying that everyone goes through this – I really do hate smug generalizations – but I bet many of us past a certain age can pinpoint the start and end date of that time without much thought.
In the last two days, I’ve come across a handful of blogs that, while well written, are lousy with that same unrelenting self-interest. And guess what? I’ve subscribed to all of them. I’ll be the first to admit: The sight of someone skittling through their Me Years is just too much fun to pass up.
But boy, am I glad I didn’t have a blog when I was that age. From the looks of it, at least one of these blogs is on the verge of getting some serious attention. What would have happened if I was one of these kids? What if, at that particular age, my scuzziest exploits were being rewarded with a strange, semi-anonymous celebrity and unwavering, constant attention? That’s gotta mess a kid up.
Which blogs, you ask? Sorry. Gotta plead the fifth on that. I’m a little too embarrassed to give them up just yet.
Whaddya think?