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Print I don’t want to be responsible. Yes, you heard me right; I want to give up being responsible. I reached this brilliant conclusion a few days ago as I was stuck in traffic on a gorgeous summer afternoon. The sun was shining, the sky was cloudless, and I could feel the great outdoors calling my name, imploring me to forget about work, forget about all of the things that I had to do after work, and instead, drive my car to my favorite sun drenched view and just soak-up as many UV rays as I could. That’s when I decided I no longer wanted to be responsible. I would much rather be sitting on the beach somewhere than slaving away at my job everyday. I envy those people who seem to be able to drive/fly off to where-so-ever their heart desires on a moment’s notice. I want to go to Bora Bora and laze away in one of those little huts that sits over the water doing nothing more than reading, sleeping and swimming until any hint of stress has left my body and I can barely remember my own name, let alone anyone else’s. If other people can do it, why can’t I? Well, if you haven’t checked the prices of those little huts in Bora Bora lately I highly recommend that you do so. It doesn’t take much looking to see that I have about as much of a chance to laze away in one those babies as Jennifer Lopez has of making her new marriage work. It’s not that I really have any aversion to being a responsible adult. It’s just that lately I’ve been wondering whatever happened to that other me. You know, the one who wanted to go to college, and then move off to some exciting location with a wonderful job and plenty of time to tour the world, while also leaving time to fall headlong and maybe even recklessly in love. Where did she go? I got the first part down pat. College is over and done with and getting further and further in my rear-view mirror with each passing day. But instead of an exciting job in an exotic location I feel like Barney Fife in Maybury RFD working a job and living a live that is comfortable, safe, and secure but definitely not exciting. Maybe I settled too quickly. Or maybe I should blame it on birth order. The idea that many of your personality traits are determined by the order in which you are born into a family is one that has grown rapidly over the last 20 years or so. First, I should admit to not being a psychology student and to having mixed feelings about a lot of the so called personality tests, etc … out there. However, I think we would be stupid and even a little foolish to not consider that your place in your family has a great impact on your psychological development. Me, I’m a first-born and you know what that means? Responsible. Yep, every source that I could find on birth order listed it as one of the main characteristics of a first-born child. We first-borns feel responsible to make sure that everyone else is taken care of. We are the organizers, the detail people, the ones with not only a plan, but a back-up plan for any situation. We feel some inherent need to do what’s right, often even instead of what we would rather do. It is our job to keep things together and in proper working order. We are the ones that not only worry about what we’re having for dinner, but how are we going to take care of our parents when they’re too old to care for themselves. Never mind that our parents probably won’t need any assistance from us for another 20 years. We need to know now. Personally, I believe that the feeling of responsibility is what kept the older brother (first-born) of the prodigal son at home with his father doing the “responsible” thing instead of running off and having a good time like his “irresponsible” brother (last-born). You had better believe that at some point in time he wanted to go, but responsibility just wouldn’t let him. My brother (middle-born) has no problem with responsibility. It’s not that he is irresponsible; it’s just that he looks at things much differently than I do. When he wants to do something he does. Case in point, next year he’s moving to Ireland. He studied there for a while last year and loved it and so he decided to go back, indefinitely. I’m not sure exactly how that works. He just believes that with a little planning everything will fall into place and that he’ll deal with whatever creeps up. No neurotic planning and contingency plans for him. So apparently I simply have to face the fact that being a first-born means being responsible. I can either deal with the fact that I need a plan to do anything and that I feel not just a need but a compulsion to go to work everyday, and learn to have fun and enjoy myself while being responsible. Or I can go against my innate personality, throw caution to the wind, and chuck responsibility out the window. Like that’s even a difficult decision. I am not impulsive. Oh, and I have decided that if I’m still single by the time I reach 30 that I am selling everything and moving to Europe . . . but that still gives me several years to plan it all out. (To find out more information on birth-order theories go to Google and search.) ninetyandnine.com © 2004, ninetyandnine.com and this anonymous blogger ----------
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