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Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for this life. This life of pressed shirts and groaning buses and first Friday meetings. Sometimes I think it would be easier to be like them, the normal people, who chat gaily on their cells as they climb the stairs to the escalators that transport them to the elevators that take them high into the sky where jolly colleagues and big responsibilities await.

But I am not like them. I am like me. I want to take a U-turn at those escalators, march back down the stairs, and walk right past the bus stop. I want to keep walking and walking until I wind up where the tall grass shimmies to the beat of a soft summer breeze.

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The Road Up, The Road Out
May 2008