It dangles in front of me, pretending like it’s actually within my reach. You know, that thing you really want. You can see it. Taste it. Smell it. You feel it deep in your bones. You just can’t quite reach it. Sometimes being out of reach motivates you to try harder. Reach a little further. And sometimes it dangles just far enough out of reach that you feel like it’s too far.
On weekends my antique store looms large on the horizon. Off I go to yard sales and flea markets. What do the other antique shops have to offer? I look. I learn. I smile. And I’m enthused.
Soon. Yes, soon, I tell myself. I’ll open that store and spend my days buying and selling and collecting. And then Monday rolls around and I realize that I have to go back to my real job. The one with no risks. The one that pays the bills. The one I tolerate but don’t like much.
Ok, you say, find a new job. Or open the dang store. Easier said than done. But you are right. I know it. I’m standing at the portal again. Time to go through.
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