Well, as I approach the age of 40, I am stuck. Wheels permanently planted skyward. Every day I sit in a cube, for 9 hours. Tapping keys and moving a mouse. I format business documents. Does it pay well? Kinda, sorta - I mean, I don't have to eat cat food, and I have a roof over my families head, and we have two cars - so no complaints there. And my job almost pays the bills.
But when I go to sleep (which I find difficult to do) I always think about how passionate I was about fish when I was 10 or 12, and still am, as it is my top of the list hobby.
My job is, like for most North Americans, relatively unfullfilling.
If I could go back, If I had a chance to do it all again - i would persue an education and career path that would have me managing a fish/livestock department, or something like that.
Would it pay the bills? Not sure. And there's the rub. Doing something I love, probably wouldn't "almost" pay the bills like my current job does.
Perhaps this isn't a post about regret. Perhaps this is a post about how North American living forces us into slots. Forces us into mind numbing existence so that we can provide for our families.
I wish I was that 12 year old boy again, or at least meet him and tell him to enjoy the time he spends fishing at the creek more, or collecting frogs or snakes or toads.
Then again, I do get that chance, to tell that boy, my son.. and I think i'll do it tonight - after I finish tapping these keys and moving this mouse.
But when I go to sleep (which I find difficult to do) I always think about how passionate I was about fish when I was 10 or 12, and still am, as it is my top of the list hobby.
My job is, like for most North Americans, relatively unfullfilling.
If I could go back, If I had a chance to do it all again - i would persue an education and career path that would have me managing a fish/livestock department, or something like that.
Would it pay the bills? Not sure. And there's the rub. Doing something I love, probably wouldn't "almost" pay the bills like my current job does.
Perhaps this isn't a post about regret. Perhaps this is a post about how North American living forces us into slots. Forces us into mind numbing existence so that we can provide for our families.
I wish I was that 12 year old boy again, or at least meet him and tell him to enjoy the time he spends fishing at the creek more, or collecting frogs or snakes or toads.
Then again, I do get that chance, to tell that boy, my son.. and I think i'll do it tonight - after I finish tapping these keys and moving this mouse.
