Who do I want to be?
Three years ago, I embarked on a road with hopes of starting a new career. I wanted something valuable for my life. I wanted something lasting, meaningful.
To influence others.
Build people up.
Encourage and enlighten and inspire.
For three years, I spent every moment studying, writing, editing, or marketing. I've become a one-dimensional character in my own life's story so that I can pour my soul into the characters I drew on paper.
I lost myself.
This year, I have often thought of quitting. Is it so wrong to work 9 to 5 and relax in the evenings?
But still, I plow forward. One foot in front of the other, dragging myself through the dry desert. The sands blow around me, through me. Burning.
If I give up now, would I ever hope again? Can someone truly be alive when they have no hope?