1.1 - The Lethal Routine:
6:15 Am. I am awoken by my daily alarm. Screaming at me that it is time to get up, get ready, and go to my 9-5, corporate American, soul sucking job. Release my arm from the comfort of my sheets and press ‘off’ (although every bit of me wants to hit snooze infinitely).
The routine begins again. I roll myself out of the warmth of my bed onto the cold floor that prevents me from sleeping just one minute closer to being late.
I struggle to pull myself to my feet as I drag them like a zombie would to my closet. I stand there, staring at the hundred outfits I have to choose from, thinking as I do every other day, "I have nothing to wear."
I grab the first matching things I can find, set them out, and head into my shower. Too cold. Too hot. Just right. Wash hair. Wash face. Stand idle as my tired mind struggles with my eyes to keep them open.
"Get out of the shower now, or you’ll be late." Do I have to?? Ugh. Fine.
Get dressed. Smear make-up on my face. Brush my teeth. WAIT…forgot to make the bed. Make the bed. Grab my things. Say goodbye to my cat. Double-check…”Do I have everything? Ok.” Lock the door. Get in my car and dread the fact that I am only on my way to sitting in rush hour traffic. My favorite. Mumble under my breath the whole way about how I must be the only person on the road who has somewhere to be, only to be more frustrated upon arrival to find there seems to be not one empty parking space. Fantastic. As I eventually find a spot at least 6 blocks from work, I continue my grumpy mumbled rant as I pay the greedy meter. This takes just long enough to register that I miss my light at the cross-walk and now must wait for the full cycle of traffic signals. At this point, I am cynically daydreaming about how it “wouldn’t be that bad if I just walked right….now, and get taken out by the next vehicle.” Not like anyone drives fast enough in this bloody town to do enough damage that would justify calling into work. You win again this time responsibilities.
7:35 Am. I have finally made it to my desk and guess what...I am late. As I try to come up with some believable excuse to explain why I was, yet again, tardy, I turn on my computers and acknowledge the blinking red light on my phone indicating that I have less than pleasant voicemails from clients “just curious why I didn’t drop whatever I was doing at that exact moment in-time to listen to their tangent about things outside of my control.” Desk phones these days just don’t have a fast enough delete option, I swear. Next “thrilling” to-do item, opening my Outlook. This task requires mental preparation you see, as I know too well what’s waiting for me there; a full-to-the-brim inbox of emails jam-packed with demands and "time sensitive" requests, and fury from customers who are just never quite content with everything I do for them. Before I can even click on the Outlook icon, my phone rings. So it begins. The daily ritual of never feeling caught-up, not possibly having the bandwidth to help my co-worker (who has now asked me if I "have a minute" seven times), or attempting to recollect my thoughts enough so that I remember to breathe. In between all the chaos, I must still find time to walk back 6 blocks to my car every two hours to keep the meter paid. Of course last minute meetings always have a way of making it to my calendar to ensure I am greeted by a hefty parking ticket when those meetings run-over and I’m just late enough to make it to my car before the 2-hour window is up. Whatever
Finally, it’s 5pm. I’ve completed my routine of ridding my mailboxes and to-do lists of any tasks I’d have to catch-up on tomorrow and trudge back to my car to yet again, sit in my favorite thing ever…rush hour traffic. Always angrily curious as to why nobody seems to want to actually go home, and managing to turn my then-headache into a now-migraine before finally arriving home at 6:30pm.
After my nightly errands are complete and making time to slip into a hurried bubble bath, I crawl into bed, toss and turn restlessly, and before I know it...
It's 6:15am. My phone is now screaming at me that it is now time to do it all again.
So this is the American dream I suppose. Man, what a life.

1.2 - The Predicament:
As often as I question why I even bother and as often as I must reassure myself that it's just what I "have" to do, I do not ever rest peacefully on the clasp of this life.
Is this even living? Sure, I have all sorts of STUFF, which people seem to adore more than they ever should, but I am still in a constant battle with my soul that any of these things make me genuinely happy. Especially when I must put myself through such an exhausting and self-depleting routine. One can only wonder what it is in this world that is truly fulfilling. I am 24 years old and I have accomplished in my 24 years what most don’t obtain until their late 20’s and early 30’s. I have a solid and secure job that pays for a higher than average security of life. I live in a downtown apartment, I have the little black sports car of my dreams, and I have the freedom to do as I please. Don’t get me wrong, I know how blessed I truly am, but on the grand scale of what life truly means…I am missing the target. The things I possess are likely more than enough for the average person to find contentment. I myself have yet to gain any deep satisfaction from any of it. Not to imply that I am ungrateful for what I have. No. That isn’t it at all. I thank God and the Universe from whence I came daily, but I also ask them, “Why does it still feel like something larger than I can fathom is missing? What is it that enriches the lives of those who have less things, but more joy than I could ever understand?” Here I am blessed with so much including youth and vigor, yet wasting away as my soul fades with every 6:15 alarm. There’s something bigger out there calling my name and as I sit behind a computer screen, spilling out my secrets and praying that my dreams are the only thing to ever wake me in the morning again, my mind keeps wandering back to what that something is.
The reality being, and what a pity it is, is that it’s that same spirit-sucking, dream-crushing, MIND-NUMBING job that’s even allowing me to write this very book. And as much as I’d love to stand atop my desk screaming in a manic plea to all the other brain-washed corporate zombies, “LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO BE WASTING AWAY IN A CUBICLE…RUN! RUN AS FAR AWAY FROM THIS PLACE AS YOU CAN BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE! WE’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME! LIFE IS TOO SHORT FOR THIS NONSENSE!!!” I know it would only get me closer to my dreams as chaining myself to the engine of a jet-plane. An idea that sounds like it could really take you places but will realistically get you nowhere…accept possibly dead or in prison.
So how do I make my escape? Let me rephrase that…how do I locate the place I belong? In a world where we’re conditioned not to chase our dreams because life only rewards those who work hard, I have established my own way of thinking. My own way of seeing, perceiving, and believing. God may not have graced my life with overflowing riches in my pockets (and for that, I am thankful in a worldly way), but he certainly blessed me with riches of the heart and soul and because of this blessing, I know it in my bones that the only life I was made to live was to expand every inch of my horizon and connect my life to the lives of the rest of the world. To some, it may sound too big for such a small person, but to me, the only thing bigger than myself is my desire to see it all. And that is what I must do. That is what I WILL do. Give my ‘things’ away to people who can appreciate them in more ways than I can, and go see it. See it all….every last bit of it.