Twenty-nine years old and I still don’t know what I want from life. The two quarreling personalities in my head wrestle over a desire for comfort and a drive for adventure. Unless wrangling young children at a grocery store or working a dead-end job are adventures, my life is a little lacking in that respect. As for the comfort department… Well, I’m not doing so swell there, either. A mattress half as old as I am and a car old enough to drink are a far cry from luxury. I’m just alive. The days spinning by in a cacophony of lists and noises and clocks and jobs. Is this what I was born for?
I feel antsy. I need to view new horizons, wander new roads, tackle new challenges. Is it so impossible to spread my wings? Will I forever be trapped by paperwork and routine and ambiguity?