The Age of Enlightenment

I had resigned to the fact that I was a Fountainhead quite some time ago. That's what they used to call us instead of stating the obvious--that we were pragmatic, perhaps pessimistic, and worse yet, enigmatic of a much larger culture clash brewing beneath the surface--a clash between the open-minded and the 'second-handers.'

For some reason, our selfishness was always seen as malignant. And that's where I beg to differ. They never allowed us to be the architects we felt we were destined to be. The limbo of what is expected of us versus what we expected of ourselves at the turn of the century is the crux of this conflict. And the disbelief in each other is exactly why we sided with her and not with them.

It was always easy to align yourself with a dead female writer who counted herself a martyr of sorts, the sole scribe championing the importance of the individual in a time when collaboration for the greater good was not only anticipated but also required.

But here we were, six decades later with the same elusive dichotomy. Perhaps it's this debate and not the degenerative nature of pop culture (and the consistency with which we assume it is in fact degenerative over time) that is why our elders count us spoiled. Or why we say they 'just don't understand.' Perhaps the great misunderstanding is in the complete lack of understanding of the individual's capability as both its own entity and part of a greater good.

So if I'm a Fountainhead, and this is quite frankly just a cascading rant on Rand that I am throwing into the ether---what, my friends---does that make you?