I don't know if anyone else feels this way but... I think maybe I’m just tired of pretending. Do you ever feel like you're just a background actor in your own life? I’m thirty-eight and I’m sitting here in the dark looking at some old photos from high school. You know that feeling when you see a version of yourself that was so much more... hopeful? Even if it was all a lie. I was the one who was always there first. 5 AM sprints while everyone else was asleep, the cold air hitting my lungs like needles. I thought if I worked harder, if I was more *meticulous* than everyone else, I’d be undeniable. That's what the coaches tell you, right? HARD WORK BEATS TALENT. What a load of absolute crap. I remember the day Mike got the call. It was senior year and we were in the locker room—that specific smell of damp towels and cheap body spray. He was sitting there with his mouth open and everyone was screaming and jumping on him because he got the full ride, the D1 scholarship. I was right there too, yelling my lungs out, slapping his back so hard my hand stung. I think maybe I was trying to drown out the sound of my own heart cracking. Sometimes you just clap because you don’t know what else to do with your hands. He didn’t even practice half as much as I did. He’d skip drills to go get tacos with his girlfriend, but he had that natural *élan* or whatever. The scouts didn't even look at my stats. They just saw his height and that easy, lazy way he moved. You ever push yourself until your lungs literally burn, like you’re breathing in broken glass? I did that every single day for four years. I thought if I was the most disciplined, the most dedicated, someone would eventually see me. But scouts don't care about the grind. They want the magic. It’s like being a painter now, I guess. I spend weeks on the technical stuff, the anatomy, the lighting, the brushwork... and then some kid posts a messy doodle and gets a gallery show because he’s "got the look." It’s the same feeling. That quiet, dull ache when you realize you’re just the guy who makes the winner look better. You’re just the support staff for someone else's luck. I don't even know why I'm thinking about this at 2am. It shouldn't matter anymore. I’m supposed to be past it, I think. I have rent due and a commission I can't seem to finish because I’m staring at a blank canvas. But I saw on social media that Mike just retired from the pros. He’s got the big house, the family, the whole deal. And I’m sitting here wondering if my car is gonna start tomorrow morning. I’m not even ANGRY anymore. That’s the weird part. It’s just this... flat, grey feeling. Like I’m a ghost watching someone else’s highlight reel. You ever feel like your whole life was decided by a bunch of guys with clipboards before you even knew who you were? Maybe I’m just ungrateful. I mean, I’m an artist. I’m doing what I supposedly love, even if I’m financially underwater. But sometimes you just wish the universe had a bit more... I don't know. Balance? Or maybe I’m just not that good.