So, the other day, in my now indefinitely long quest to constantly entertain myself, I did something I probably should never do: I watched a documentary.
Netflix is now instant streaming "Being Elmo: A Puppeteer's Journey." Sigh.
OKAY FINE. Maybe the crying was an "only me" thing since 1.) I cry over anything when it comes to movie watching. Except dog movies. b.) I was overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy and cat.) I was home alone so crying was perfectly acceptable.
Now, this isn't a whole, "woe is me" sort of post. Please be informed that I am still perfectly aware of how awesome I am. (Read: really awesome.) It's just that here is this story about this young boy who knew since he was little that he wanted to be a puppeteer. I mean, that's kind of a lame goal, unless you turn out to be Elmo, but the point is that he just knew.
He started building his own puppets at age fetus (or something) and it was all very inspiring. It's hard to watch something like that and not realize that I am passionate about absolutely nothing. There is nothing that I've been wanting since a fateful day when I laid eyes on [insert inspiring thing here.] I'm not excellent at anything, and just okay at a smorgasbord of things. Where is my puppet-loving, you know?
Maybe that's naive. Maybe we don't all get life long passions like not everyone who plays a giant claw machine actually gets a prize. Maybe the rest of us get to tie together strings of temporary interests and obsessions and zebra cakes.
I wouldn't be alarmed, dear readers. After I watched "Man on Wire" I wanted to tightrope walk. I guess the real lesson here is that I should stop watching documentaries.
I like all your faces.