Maturity DOES take a while, doesn't it?

Five years ago I left my job as Executive Secretary sorry, assistant, and at the time it was considered, if not a prudent decision, at least one that was to give me a measure of peace of mind.

My boss at the time wasn't the easiest person to work for -- an understatement for those who knew her then -- and the pay, while good, wasn't worth the aggravation I felt at the time.

God how I'm singing a different tune now. How a change of circumstance can lead to a change of perspective is always startling.

I've never really starved before. Oh yes, there were times that I couldn't eat for one reason or another but it's not starving when you know that the lack of food is a temporary condition. I mean this literally and figuratively. And I'm willing to put up with a whole lot of shit now for less because I've learned the value of making a living.

I've been spoiled by my upbringing and that's not entirely the fault of my parents. I believe one loses the ability to blame one's parents when one passes the age of eighteen. I'm a grown man and I value the fact that I make decisions about my life. I can't blame my parents for making me unfit to live in this cold, hard world. If, for argument's sake, they have done this, I've had ten years to remedy that and I didn't.

It's time to work; get my act together and contribute something. I realized five years ago that I might not become the man people read about in newspapers or in magazines; that I might be one of those who do the reading. I knew that then, in my head; but now I know it in my gut. Not to say I've given up hoping I'll ever be read about -- who doesn't have that dream? -- but I now know there's a whole lot ahead of me first.

It took me twenty-eight years to grow up. Better late than never.