I figured life would be an adventure and I would travel through it making great contributions, leaving my mark.
Today, I ride a desk: a cubicle, a beige, padded work cell.
I spend 40 hours a week in what is essentially solitary confinement, hammering out widgets that are immediately melted back down so that I can hammer them back out again.
I’m wedged in the generation gap so all the adults out there will be thinking I should quit whinning and be thankful for steady work and decent benefits.
All of the millenials will wonder why I don’t just go back to school for a few more degrees.
I want to work hard, I really, really do.
The problem is that I have passions, lots of them, and they don’t intersect over my cubicle.
I can choose to whiteknuckle it out for 32 more years or I can choose passion and chase my wild horses.