Someone, Anyone

Dear Anyone,

I really wanted to be someone, ya know? Someone who walks right up to the 9-5, grabs it by its dumb paisley tie, and hocks a loogie on the cement near its freshly polished name-brand dress shoes just to remind it that I don’t take orders from some caged-in concept.

But…I am caged-in. I feel like a chicken. Like the ones the stores say are “free range.” The ones that lay those eggs with the big, bright red-orange yolks, consumed because that is their only purpose. Those chickens that live in mere inches of space, losing their feathers, unable to do anything but grow physically, exist, and serve their purpose. I wonder if they can dream of a better life when they’ve never even seen an example of what one looks like.

I feel like that. Like I was meant to be consumed and only consumed, and anytime I thought maybe I could get out of this, every time I reached for something more, to start a business or a side gig, all I could ever reach were barriers

This letter, it’s not some statement about eating meat. And if you thought it was, I’m sorry, but it’s not. It’s about how I feel.

It’s about crying in my bedroom for years and years, wishing all this writing I do wasn’t for nothing. Stabbing my hopes and dreams to death each morning because they don’t know how to stay silent. Wishing I could just get a goddamn break like the people out there who can really afford to buy a home because they chose a wealthier career path they were born passionate about. Or maybe they were just capable of crumpling up their passion, throwing it in the bin, and walking into that 9-5 sunset.

I wonder if I was born to die clutching my passions between my hands, like “Look at it! Please look! Please give me a chair at the table so I can eat too! And I’ll just eat the appetizers, I swear, I don’t even need an entrée… I just…”

I wanted to be someone, ya know?

Andy Palenti grew up in Denver, Colorado, always watching, always wondering. He writes like he talks—straight to the point, a little bitter, a little hopeful. You’ll find him in old bookstores, the mountains, late-night diners, or anywhere people are saying things a little too loudly.