It seems that 2005 was the year for people I know to make large acquisitions in their lives.
My sister acquired a husband.
My bff Kathy acquired the sweetest and most adorable baby girl.
My roommate acquired a huge sofa.
My friend genius acquired a degree (and a swell husband).
But for all this gaining experienced by those around me, one would suppose that the trend would rub off on me. Alas, this seems not to have been the case.
Being your run of the mill human, this realization makes me pause. As I allow myself a little moment of introspective indulgence I wonder, do I use acquisitions in life to give myself a little sense of satisfaction and accomplishment? In the long list of names posted to the universal classroom wall does my name have less gold stars next to it than it should?
If I am honest with myself about my belief of constant progression would I count 2005 as a wash because, really, what progression did I make?
Alright, sure, I am a year older and smarter, and I have a semester of grad school under my belt, but what do I physically have to show for the last set of 365 days?
More importantly, why do I feel the need to have something physical? Is it a product of my elementary school days where I got a sticker for having read 10 pages of a Judy Blume novel? Why couldn't the reading have been the reward itself? Is it my ultra-western-driven grooming that has produced this person who needs something to prove that my time has been well spent and that I am growing and learning?
Maybe, for the good of us all, we should eliminate those metallic gold star stickers from our society entirely.