Almost famous

I always dreamed of one day standing in front of millions of people, lyrically spilling out my heart through my vocal cords. I could just never find my voice.

I guess I can say I am part of a dying breed; a group of people who could never quite find their perfect harmonious pitch but still cling to that dream of one day touching lives and making a difference. Some of them dance. Some of them act.

I have two left feet and I am far too nervous to ever step near a stage without stammering - so I choose to write.

Behind every word printed contains a simile I can hide behind and enough quick wit to make sure I don't let you down.

But I can't help but worry that somehow I'll be forced into a slumber-inducing cubicle job where the neckties I no longer choose to wear turn into nooses wrapped tightly around my throat and my chest caves in from knowing I can do much better.

Newspapers are slowly dying, and nearly anyone with Internet access can put together a blog, so career writers are watching the lifeblood of their occupation drip onto the floor.

It's understandable why the papers are failing. With instant gratification always looming around every Webisodic blog post, who would want to read about what happened yesterday?

So where does that leave someone like me, who's spent the past four years of his life wasting away his creative juices on lengthy epitaphs about poetry?

I'm not sure. And it scares me to death.

I never want to be stuck in a career where I'm droning on and on, craving some big change that's never going to happen, always looking back instead of ahead.

While friends and acquaintances are working on resumes and job interviews, I'm sitting here waiting for some huge bright light to be cast upon me so I know what I want to do.

After watching television, I always like to think that I would someday be able to write a sitcom. Then I start thinking about every other kid like me who's funnier, brighter and has a greater vocabulary competing for the same jobs I am.

My life feels like a game of chess where my pieces might be moving, but I was just never in it to begin with. I know I have the talent to produce something brilliant, and yet somehow I'm eternally stuck in a rut.

So where does that leave me? I know everything I don't want for a career, yet for some reason I feel unprepared for what I really want.

Maybe I won't ever get that chance to stand in front of a crowd. Maybe my childhood dreams were destined to just never happen.

It's a weird feeling: growing up and having to deal with the realization that sometimes life doesn't give you quite enough lemons to make delicious lemonade.