I’m very much having a “so what’s the point?” conversation with myself this evening. Lots of evenings are like this one, quiet and dark, but tonight, for some reason, I’m quite contemplative.

I told David last night that I wanted to get my MBA. I’d mentioned it before, but last night he asked why. I stopped. Why not? It means you learn something, you gain knowledge, you grown. It’s a great way to network and meet people.

And that’s where, in my conversation with myself tonight, I stop. I’m not a very good networker. I’m not into “small talk” and “people skills”. I work hard–way too hard, in some people’s opinions–for what purpose? To amass things I can’t take with me? To prove to whomever that gosh darn it, I’m good enough?

That, my friends, is a retarded view point. Muckled and muddy, and kind of nuts. Why do some people work so hard, sacraficing their loved ones along the way, just to prove to people in high school that they can drive a nicer car, have more money, a fancier lifestyle, than their friends have achieved? The friends don’t care–my friends don’t care. A few who know me well are happy for me, and the rest are happy for themselves. What I’ve done and how far I’ve gotten is of no importance to anyone but myself.

So who am I trying to prove something to–myself, or the people of my past? If it’s not the people of my past, why try to prove it to myself? Why constantly set myself up for failure by setting goals I can’t achieve?