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State of the Union.

I think it's safe to say everyone knows someone who isn't happy with their life, or where it appears they're headed. As sad as it may be, it's probably fair to say that most times people don't become the things they truly aspire to be. All too often, we settle.

And you know, settling is essentially becoming a part of life. People are being born and developing higher aspirations. But with those aspirations, it seems far too many people are caring too little about the journey toward accomplishing them. I'm pretty certain that people forget their actions along the way directly affect the results of their life.

I can't spend my youth stealing cars and selling drugs and still plan to become an astronaut when I grow up. The two things do not correlate. They do not compute.

If a person lives their entire life being mediocre, what makes them think they're deserving of such grandiose luxuries as so many gluttonous, greedy Americans do? It honestly boggles me.

But do you know what boggles me more? The type of people who find themselves in admittedly bad situations -- like a loveless relationship, or a dead-end job -- and do nothing to resolve it.

Whether you want to believe it or not, life is a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Each choice does lead us to the next, and we are given countless options along the way.

And ultimately, unless you've been struck by some terrible tragedy, like being paralyzed by a drunk driver (which even things like this are debatable. But for the sake of relationships, let's not go there I suppose), YOU are the maker of your destiny.

And as big of a heart as I do have, I have a difficult time feeling extendedly sorry for the people around me who sap and complain, mull over their situation countless times and for ridiculously long periods of time, yet still find it possible to do absolutely nothing about it.

For the first time in my life, I found myself without the ability to pay my rent if I didn't find a second job, so I got one. And then, while I was working to make ends meet myself, heard of a woman who was in a terrible situation - four kids at home, a husband out of work, and her gas light on at 11PM. So I, after working twelve hours between two jobs that day, put gasoline in her car at the station. And two days after that, I bought her a meal. That was in August. It's January now, her husband is still out of work and she still only works part-time, and worse -- she has turned down a quite enticing job offer, spent money on clothes to go clubbing, and routinely spends money on food when there is free food available, all the while still complaining about the financial predicament she's so unfortunate to have found herself in. And as much as I want to be a good friend, I find it ridiculously difficult to bite my tongue when she cries poor mouth. Even Dave, the man who once sat on the corner of Highway 27 and US Highway 441, and waved to me every time I drove by, didn't cry poor mouth and he was actually homeless.

It's people like this particular woman who make me wonder why I feel so much sympathy. But it's people like Dave, who I have bought food for, and did give a Thanksgiving day turkey sandwich to on my way to work the day after Thanksgiving who remind me that there is a need for compassion like mine, but with the need for it also comes the abuse of it. And it's my job to be able to distinguish between the two.

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