I often wonder, with a feeling of great tragedy and listlessness, of what would have happened should I have scrounged up the money to pursue my dream. Overcome by woe, I can't help but fear how different things might be had I flown off where no one I know has been before, cringing at the thought that I might have sacrificed triumph for comfort, happiness for safety, that I let the mere matter of money pour cement over everything I've ever wanted.
Or perhaps I'm making excuses because I know I'm not as great as I would like, and will never achieve the things I'd like to think I can, and nothing can change that. what if none of it matters.