It would be very much easier to go and live in the bush or by the sea and write books. Once, not so long ago, I thought quite seriously about buying an old Subaru and renting a place in Hoedspruit. I’d live off my savings until they ran out, and then… well, that’s when the plan runs out too.
It would be much easier than this daily slog of meetings and content grids and PowerPoint documents, of not earning an income (out of choice; I don’t want to be an overhead just yet), of little or no time for doing the things I love, of never taking a day off, of rollercoaster highs and terrible lows, of Berocca every morning and black rings under my eyes, of headaches from hunching over a laptop, of the awful fear that none of this is going to pay off.
It would be very much easier to not do any of this.