All or Nothing.

"People have enough to live, but nothing to live for; they have the means, but no meaning.” -Robert Fogel

Only seventeen years old and I have already tried to fathom every possible excuse to avoid working my life away. I hold on to dreams of traveling the world, helping others, embracing each new day, and discovering myself through God's word.
Currently I am working almost thirty hours a week at a local clothing store, while still attending high school. I'm enrolled in three college level courses, but am left with almost no time to study. I've been sick for over a month with all the running I do, and I've drifted apart from more than a few friends because I haven't had the chance to call them and see how they're doing.
I don't want life after high school to be this way. I have a hunger for something so much more than a nine to five.
At what point did we become so caught up in these fast-paced lifestyles that we forgot to stop and embrace life? When did we start to feel as though working overtime suddenly was more important than backyard football games, watching the sunset with the one we love, or riding with the windows down, singing Born to be Wild, and feeling the wind blow through our hair?
Maybe I've already realized that the security money offers us is merely a societal construct that holds us back from experiencing the true passions of life.
A combination of our upbringing into a society that values money, power, and success is the root of my discontent. A society whose definition of success is so out of line with true happiness. I am desperate for something more than what we were taught would make us happy.

They seldom wore shoes on Sundays...

Most Sundays they spent a good portion of the day in bed. He watched the football games on TV for hours. She told him about her upcoming week, growing excited for what was to come, as she set fresh flowers about the house. Around 1 o’clock they ate lunch - a colorful plate of all their favorites. She curled up on one end of the couch, her legs and feet covered with a blanket. He sat next to her, his legs sprawled out in front. They looked forward to these lazy Sundays all week—sometimes spent laughing at whatever movie he had in his queue, sometimes spent holding one another hovering the thin line between pillow talk and half-conscious murmurings as they slipped into a light sleep. As daylight turned to dusk, their stomachs reminded them of the hour and, for the first time that day, they put on shoes and walked down the long, winding roads to the tiny restaurant at the base of the mountain. Here they took a seat at their typical table and ordered the exact same thing they had ordered every Sunday night for the last eight months.