When the only thing more impossible than to leave is to stay.
I want to tell the people that I’m close to so badly about what I want to do, I want to ask for their advice.
But I don’t, because I know that they would try to stop me because they think it’s too dangerous, too foolish and they would tell me that I couldn’t.
Well, I’m gonna do it anyway, because something inside me tells me I have to. And that everything will be fine. And if not, than that’s how it was meant to be.
But I would rather die doing what I love than live a life long being haunted by regrets and lies that I’m telling myself.
Is it suicidal if the thing you love is something where the chances of getting lost and dying are supposedly higher than when you’re following a conventional lifestyle? Or is it the only thing that actually makes you live?