To feel wildly suffocated from a mostly-desk job 

But you love the opportunities it affords you; you work hard, contribute stealthily to those idealistic goals you had at 17, and, there’s travel

But the stench of patriarchy and the amount of hours spent massaging the egos of weak men

But then meeting the rare unicorns amongst beasts who you find a strange unspeakable connection with, who help anchor you towards kindred growth

But the utter weight of bureaucratic accountability and sheer laser beams of judgement and the gossip mongering that’s a natural result of the extended family you become as a Commoner

But the shit they say about you

But the people in the Service, if anything, never lacking in being full of themselves and being repugnantly ignorant of humility, therefore serving as endless fodder for laughs and stories later on

But the shit they say about you and your SO

But the number of countries you have traipsed and luggage you have lugged, becoming salt of the earth and one with the new places you see, the art you observe, the music that rocks your soul and the food that expands your mind

But the way you are dying inside, blackening swiftly from a speedy disease of drudgery 

But the brilliant, wholesome, charming people you meet with, sit with, talk with, dream a little about

But the life you think your could’ve spent writing

But the clan you form a protective affinity towards and defend against unjust plebes who have a natural hate towards systems they refuse to understand because of the reeking privilege that keeps them at a higher moral ground

But the ludicrous amount of questionable personal morals you have to turn a blind eye to

But the sway in your step as you grow in confidence and composure over the years, harvesting your experience and being the most erudite in the room in certain things and certain subjects, and knowing that your passion projects can actually make a difference 

But the peace you forgo, the child you see less, the rest you never get, the rush that hangs over your day, the slowness you crave, the easy life you miss, the dwindling years you see unfold into oneness infront of your very eyes, the plot you see changing way too often