The conundrum we all face, those of us who strive for more, is that we cannot settle on having a mediocre life. I, like many adults that have managed to move out of my parents' house on sheer determination to not be That Guy(Gal) who lives in their basement until I'm thirty, work at a job that I hate. It's not just any job, or some boring run-of-the-mill job that I should be thankful for having in our struggling economy. It's a job that has driven many-a-coworker over the edge. Countless times have I heard of coworkers being out on leave for mental reasons, scores more (including myself) are medicated just to keep from throwing up with anxiety in the morning before reporting for work.
So why not quit, one might ask. Money. That's the only reason, and boy do I feel shameful for admitting it, but there you have it. Bills to pay, economy is unstable, unemployment is up, and I've got people who depend on me. I like to daydream that once the kids are grown, I can quit it all and just go hitching my way across Europe. The problem with that dream, however, is that I'm afraid of heights AND the ocean, so how I'm getting there is still a bit of a mystery. Maybe by then, there'll be a supertunnel that goes under the ocean. That way, my feet won't leave the ground.
In the meantime, I've spent the last five years writing. I've written millions of words, all stored away for few to read since I'm certain it's all crap. Purely, one hundred percent, utter, and complete crap. But still... there's that voice that urges me on, telling me to take a chance and risk seeing if I'm being my own worst critic. So, against the odds, I'm out in the void: looking for an agent that doesn't delete my email as soon as they read it.