What does it even mean to have a destiny?
There have been times I've believed wholeheartedly that certain things were meant to be: my time in Provincetown, writing my novel, finding Matt.
More often than not, however, destiny - the sense of utter and complete proper fit - is elusive and exasperating. If there are all these things I'm supposed to be, then why am I here, working like a madman in support of someone else's dream?
I admit that I am one of the lucky ones. I actually DO care about the work that I do. But if my destiny is to be an oft-vacationing novelist, I'm clearly mighty far from hitting the mark.
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