Driven
It's safe to say I'm driven. I'm not driven in an ordinary way. I haven't made anything out of myself in my 41 years. It's more like a personal drive, beating myself at something, having my way in some insipid way. It's important for a moment, but there's no real reason for it. It's a pointless way of being driven. There's no payoff. It's not good for me. I push myself often to the point of fatigue and beyond. I've gone many years with little sleep, and to what end? Do I live in a comfortable house? Do I have a sizeable pension waiting for me? A home in the suburbs? I have nothing. I have not failed to notice the never-ending stream of people in various media who are also driven. Many of them have horrible backgrounds, stories of neglect, abuse, hardscrabble upbringings, etc. At some point, and perhaps erroneously, I connected the dots. I believe abuse can often lead to being driven. I watched the Netflix documentary of Quincy Jo...