if you can't find the needle, burn the haystack

I spent years being patient about the wrong things, waiting for my time to come. I kneel in front of the haystack, sifting, sifting, sifting. I sort each strand of hay with a devoted precision - did I think the needle would surface on its own, glinting, a reward me for my slow, painstaking patience? When does patience stop being a virtue, and, instead, becomes another word for fear and avoidance? I think you have to be willing to lose everything to get the thing you want. I think you should clasp the life you want by the throat, even if it means you burn down everything you once knew: your job, that one five-year plan you played too safe, the version of yourself you outgrew but everyone else still expects you to tend to. That's how the haystack was built in the first place, bale by boring bale, stacked out of avoidance, fear, the same comfort zone being circled to death. Don't sift. Don't kneel there and pick each piece apart, hoping this is the one. You might call it diligence,…