Despite the parsimonious nature in which I now conduct my life and the sweeping sacrifice of conventional Epicurean indulgences I have made, I have no doubt that I am living in the halcyon days of my early adulthood. The question now is not whether darkness and turbulence lie ahead--that is unavoidable--nor whether I have the fortitude to weather them--of course I do.
The question now is, when all my prospects are exhausted and potential expired, when the universe of rational thought has dismissed my beliefs with totality, when courage has long since devolved into megalomania, when every relationship has been consumed, every promise abandoned, and not one grain of compassion remains even to counterfeit sympathy, will I capitulate to sense and reason? Will I allow relief and repose to lift me out of the mire and send me down the warm path of contentment? Or will I possess the psychotic obsession necessary to claw my mangled fingers against dirt and stone until I inconceivably grind them into gold?
A knowledgeable man once told me that most people chasing my dream quit not for lack of talent but for an abundance of options. The ones most likely to fail are the ones most able to succeed elsewhere.
When the storm at last clears and the sky opens again, will the sun see me standing on my feet saying, "I'm done," or will it find me lying on my back saying, "I've done it."
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