A quarter of a century
In a few months I'm turning a quarter of a century old. Still young, but growing old. It's paralyzing.
I've been going through a mid-life crisis (I don't expect to live past 50) lately. With troubled times at work, general unhappiness and dissatisfaction with how I turned out, and a dim future ahead of me, I'm not that enthusiastic about my birthday.
I can't pinpoint the time when I actually started dreading my birthday. I used to look forward to ice cream and cake.
Bah. I'm an underachiever with crippling self-esteem issues fostered by a turbulent childhood and traumatic experiences within the family. Can't get past that one.
So, faced with critical decisions in my life once again, I've been forced to face up to a couple of things, and start thinking about what I really want out of life.
I'm not a writer, that much I'm sure of now. I'm a dreamer. I dream about words, and like dreams, they disappear right before I can write them down. I have to own up to it.
So I'm going to take my father's offer to shove me through a masters degree. I don't regret taking literature, but I can't survive in the industry. I'm not skilled or talented enough, so I'll just continue to dream words. I'll try my hand in business, see if that works out for me.
I don't know when, I don't know how, but (I know something's starting right now) my priority now is to find a place in another industry, expand my horizons, and broaden my portfolio. Literature won't pay the bills forever.
I've been going through a mid-life crisis (I don't expect to live past 50) lately. With troubled times at work, general unhappiness and dissatisfaction with how I turned out, and a dim future ahead of me, I'm not that enthusiastic about my birthday.
I can't pinpoint the time when I actually started dreading my birthday. I used to look forward to ice cream and cake.
Bah. I'm an underachiever with crippling self-esteem issues fostered by a turbulent childhood and traumatic experiences within the family. Can't get past that one.
So, faced with critical decisions in my life once again, I've been forced to face up to a couple of things, and start thinking about what I really want out of life.
I'm not a writer, that much I'm sure of now. I'm a dreamer. I dream about words, and like dreams, they disappear right before I can write them down. I have to own up to it.
So I'm going to take my father's offer to shove me through a masters degree. I don't regret taking literature, but I can't survive in the industry. I'm not skilled or talented enough, so I'll just continue to dream words. I'll try my hand in business, see if that works out for me.
I don't know when, I don't know how, but (I know something's starting right now) my priority now is to find a place in another industry, expand my horizons, and broaden my portfolio. Literature won't pay the bills forever.