There's another life I long to live, a parallel one that feels at odds with the one I'm living.
It seems the world is full of people like me. Closet artists and inspiring writers (authors), people longing to do meaningful, inspiring work. Yet we are not doing it.
We worry about our daily lives and that we won't make an impact. In the late hours or all day long, we wonder what we'll be remembered for, what the legacy we leave our children will be. Meanwhile other people are just trying to make it through another week, finding themselves succeeding at the wrong things.
All of us at some point wonder if what we're doing matters. But for some of us this question sticks. Like for me, it haunts me, and the answer taunts me. I can hear it in the distance like a child whispering in the wind.
