The Ingrained Myth of My Potential

I'm rational enough to accept that failure is a relative term, but what about disappointment? I have more than a little trouble accepting the good fortune of those close to me. This does not make me a better person. Most my friends and family, though, seem to think I’m a much better person than I actually am. Herein lies the goat-carcass-of-suffering. Despite what the meanings of the words would logically imply, in terms of real logic Capability is a necessary but not sufficient condition of Possibility. (In layman’s terms, just because I CAN do it does not in any way mean that IT COULD EVER HAPPEN.) This may be hard for my loved ones to accept conceptually, but the consequences of my literal acceptance of this fact resemble what one might expect to feel at the loss of a hand, or perhaps a nose. Just because this nose is one that has been painted on my face in layers by doting parents, peers, and professors, doesn’t mean I don’t feel like it belongs to me, in fact, it’s what I’ve been counting on all along to get me through life, the nose of security, the nose of success, the nose of possibility. So now the nose of my intellectual superiority has been almost entirely eroded by a few months in NYC and I find that there’s no real nose underneath. The snot just falls right out of my face onto the sidewalk, cafe table, or subway bench, and I know I’m fucked, since, well, who wants to work with the girl with no nose?