Anxiety of Enough
I say I want it.
I mean, I know I do.
Or, I think I do?
But, do I want it badly enough?
Am I working hard enough?
Am I spending all the time I could, or should, be?
Maybe I should be sending more emails
Maybe I should be furiously, exhaustively, writing...
Maybe it should all be pouring out of me at every waking moment
That's what I've been told, anyway
The only way to make a decent living from creating is to hustle hard enough that you tread water instead of drown in it
That the only way to beat out the competition is to work harder, do more, be better
Give 110% of everything you’ve got
I guess we'll find out, won't we?
I'll either pave my own way or I'll be a victim of the cycle
At a young age, somehow, I understood mortality in a way most kids don't seem to.
I chose time, experiences, over money
I've been acutely aware ever since that the best investment of my limited time on earth was to spend it doing things that I love, with people that I love.
I guess it's possible I will be on my deathbed, wishing I had hustled harder.
Regretting that I didn't say everything that I had to say
I think what I will really wish is that I could have one more long talk with Danny
One last good, hard laugh
Time to explore one more new place
In a world that demands output more than input
That puts pressure on being Someone
on creating Something
An expectation to share infinitely, to work infinitely
Go at your own pace
Life is too short
to be so busy.