The Story of a Young Man Struggling with Incompetence

Jerome here:

When I weighed myself a few days ago, I was 5 pounds heavier than I expected- 163 instead of 158; a soul crushing turn of events. I reflected on the day before. I had gone on a run and eaten some vegan hipster crud I wouldn’t feed to the dog of my worst enemy. What could have happened to cause this huge, ungainly increase in adipose tissue? I sighed, wiping a lone tear from my cheek, vowing to re-apply myself to my weight-maintenance regiment. More salad, less chips; six miles running, not four.  But before making these upgrades to my personal beautification procedures (I need my chips bro), I needed to weigh myself once more, just to be sure.

I put down my book and weighed myself. 158. Huh, that’s stran… Wait, I PUT DOWN MY BOOK? I seriously weighed myself the first time with a five pound book in my hand? Really? And then it hit me.

I. Am. Incompetent.

Like many recent graduates of semi-prestigious Universities all around the US, I have graduated from college equally as incompetent as when I entered. I can remember my Freshman year, struggling to register for the right classes, failing to get involved in the right clubs, shaving my head because I couldn’t figure out how to cut my hair for myself any other way. But at least then, I was acutely- I mean ACUTELY- aware of my ineptitude.

Now, with a college degree in hand, and some semblance of a “real” job, I am still awful. Just awful. I weigh myself with significantly heavy objects in my hands. I leave my clothes in the wash too long sometimes and smell like mildew for a week. I’m even incompetent at lying. I try to tell people it’s my natural musk, but people know. It’s mildew. I’m incompetent.

And the problem is that outside of these strange moments of clarity when I actually recognize it, I think I am HOT SHIT. Which makes me the worst kind of incompetent person. I am unable to be trusted with even the simplest task, but I have been educated and taught and molded to think that I have all the answers, or at least the means to find them.

One of my points of pride is to not break up the flow of my rants with actual, solid references, but this brings to mind a recent semi-scathing Huffington Post article about our generation’s feelings of entitlement: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/wait-but-why/generation-y-unhappy_b_3930620.html. Read it if you want- it’s interesting. And then watch this slightly correct counterpoint, because sarcastic youtube videos are fun!  http://www.upworthy.com/the-best-response-for-when-anyone-calls-young-people-lazy-today.

When it comes down to it though, I don’t reallllly care for expounding the whole “why my generation is, or is not, awful” argument. It’s too broad, too general, and therefore too wrong. What I really care about is why I- Jerome Hoke- suck this bad at things after 22 years of intensive practice at paying attention to the reality around me. And if I’m this awful now, is there any chance for me in the future? Am I fated to remain at this low level of competency for the rest of my life? The answer, quite simply, is yes. I’m super fucked. And so are my future children and whoever gets stuck being my disappointed life partner. That’s just the way it is. OR IS IT?

Maybe. Because just this afternoon something incredibly mundane happened that acted as a clear counterpoint. Drumrollllll, pleassee!!

So, I was about to jay-walk on a one-way street in downtown Columbus. I had checked for cars and felt fully confident in my ability to cross the 4 lanes of pristine, traffic-less asphalt. I began to walk, only to be immediately honked at by a pickup truck turning out of a previously unnoticed alleyway. The big man inside was screaming “Fuck you, you piece of shit!”

I reflexively shrieked back something along the lines of “Everyone has a fucking right to life!”, somehow mixing up my Things to Yell at Angry Drivers with Things to Yell at Anti-Abortion Rallies. He threw me the finger and raced off, only to catch the red light down at the end of the street. Karma, bitch.

Regardless, I still knew I was in the wrong. Here was just another example of my incompetence, my inane belief that I am infallible, getting me into trouble. I hadn’t really checked thoroughly enough and was crossing a pretty major street. I was really starting to get down on myself when a construction worker across the street yelled over at me “Hey, that guy can go fuck himself!”

“Huh?” I said back. I was turned inward, grumbling to myself, not paying attention.

He said it again, pointing emphatically, “That guy, that guy right there. He can go fuck himself.” This time I understood. I sheepishly smiled back and gave him a thumbs up. He waved, and continued on his way.

Continuing to walk, I pondered that maybe this was at least part of the answer to human incompetence. We can rely on our coping mechanisms, like positive self-talk and cognitive dissonance, only so far. Sometimes, we need someone to tell us to bum the fuck up and reassess. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone’s incompetent to some extent. It’s not just me, or our generation. It’s a whole human race thing. And maybe, just maybe, that makes it all okay.

I’m still a dumbass though.