I am right now in the thick of my regularly scheduled existential crisis. I tried self-medicating with pizza and candy. I’m here writing in a Starbucks hoping a change of scenery, some espresso, and the coffeeshop bustle will snap me out of this funk. But the nagging questions cannot be deterred.
What am I doing? Where am I going? Am I ever going to get to the next level? What is the next level? I don’t know. Something other than this place I’ve been stuck in for the past too many years.
Chasing the dream is rough, man. I’ve thought about giving up countless times. It would be so much easier to give up. Be done with the pressure, the expectations, the rejection. Spend the little free time I have reading and watching my favorite shows. Napping. I never let myself nap.
But more than the nagging questions is the nagging urge to keep writing. No matter how much I want to give up, I want to write even more.