With the aurora borealis flaming coldly overhead, or the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and frozen under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence. It was an old song, old as the breed itself -- one of the first songs of the younger world in a day when songs were sad. It was invested with the woe of unnumbered generations, this plaint by which Buck was so strangely stirred. When he moaned and sobbed, it was with the pain of living that was of old the pain of his wild fathers, and the fear and mystery of the cold and dark that was to them fear and mystery. And that he should be stirred by it marked the completeness with which he harked back through the ages of fire and roof to the raw beginnings of life in the howling ages.The Call of the Wild. Jack London.
Not even hindsight is 20/20 right now.
I worry about a lot of things. It's easy for me to believe that everything happens the way it's supposed to for other people, but when it comes to my own life I'm plagued by all the little what-ifs. Did I make the right choice taking time off after grad school? The free time I thought I'd have without classes has turned into a string of endless, numbered days. Work leaves me too exhausted and drained to make much of my evening hours, especially after cooking dinner, cleaning, and preparing for the next day. It's somehow duller, lonelier, and more leeching than the schoolwork that sent me looking for a break in the first place. Should I have studied music in grad school or even gone to grad school straight out of college at all? As hard as I worked for the degree, it does little for me other than acting as a stepping stone if I ever go back for a doctorate. Maybe another major or an internship or an entry-level job would have been a better post-college choice? It...
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