Fear and Loathing
Sometimes I really hate myself. Not in the sense of “My butt is too big” hate myself (my butt is perfectly sized for sitting on), or “Why can’t I be six-foot-five?” hate myself (I already have enough knee problems, thank you very much); but something more along the lines of “How did I let myself get this comfortable?” hate myself. My particular strain of disappointed self-loathing stems from the fact that in the quest to be a good provider for my family, I have fallen into the age old trap of “A Good Job with Retirement Benefits.” It occurs to me that although securing oneself on the all-important career path may seem like an appropriate exercise for anyone with any shred of responsibility and/or ambition, in actuality it is easy for that same career to become much like a narcotic, preventing a person from taking any sort of risk and ensuring that he stays on that career track to the exclusion of other less lucrative, secure, or dare I say it, fulfilling life choices. (more…)
