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  • Writer's pictureChoo Choo


Funny how self-sabotage works. One day you're waking up and going for a run and having that first cup of coffee while autumn sunlight bathes your apartment in hope and possibilities--because, after all, that light is just a metaphor for your future; bright, full of potential--and your endorphins are off-the-chain nutso and you dance naked in the mirror to feminist hip-hop. Euphoric and ambitious, you are convinced you will one day save the world with your words and music and killer abs. Then you put on your grown-up suit and head off to work, another long twelve-hour drop in the bucket amongst a sea of buckets.

The next day, during your lunch break, you are sitting on a sun-drenched park bench in a wooded glen, and you are questioning everything. In your quest to remain financially solvent, have you lost your way creatively? Do you find joy in your day-to-day work anymore? Is it hindering your world-saving quest? Sure, you can afford to travel and buy nice things, but the catch-22 is that you're so busy you have no time for any of it. And after a string of endless twelve-hour days, it's hard to get home and still have enough energy for world-saving pursuits of happiness.

You realize these thoughts are no different than those of every other first-world millennial on this side of ever. And now you're late for work.

P.S. May be time for a website overhaul...stay tuned.

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