Cowardice

If you define cowardice as running away at the first sign of danger, screaming and tripping and begging for mercy, then yes, Mr. Brave man, I guess I’m a coward.

— Jack Handey

A few entries back I happened to mention that I’m an Accounting major, which has caused an absolute uproar among you readers. Accounting? What sort of inhumane, sick, twisted individual would choose THAT for a profession? If I am that sort of an individual, what does that say about me?

I mean, what sort of person likes to do Accounting, anyway? The answer to that question, of course, is that no one in their right mind would really enjoy doing Accounting. It’s just not something that one looks forward to doing. I can speak from experience.

So, the question that follows is why in the bloody hell would I major in Accounting when it’s obviously something that I absolutely despise? Well, first of all, I never said that I despised it; rather I just don’t particularly LIKE doing it. There is a difference there. I’m quite neutral towards it.

However, still, I have dreams right? Isn’t there something I really want to do with my life? Maybe I would make less money, but, then, who cares about that if I’m really and truly happy?

The answer to that is, yes, there are probably professions out there that would bring me a slightly more enjoyable day than Accounting. However, they either pay a lot less or there isn’t a demand for them. So, instead of chasing my dreams, I’m throwing my dreams away for money. I’m a true American.

So, doesn’t that make me feel bad? Throwing my dreams away and all? I’ll never be happy, right?

Well, I don’t really agree with that philosophy. I mean, I’m not doing whatever my dreams are right now and I’m perfectly happy. Couldn’t feel better. So, who’s to say that I won’t feel the same when I’m an Accountant, doing the same thing as now only with more money?

Sure, I could chase my dreams, but then it’s probable I’d end up at best not wealthy and at worst unemployed. That idea certainly doesn’t make me happy. So, I’m a coward. I’m selling out my hopes and dreams for a little bit of money. In fact, feel free to call me a coward. Spit on my name if you like. I actually suggest telephoning me so you can tell me personally that I am indeed a coward. When you telephone, don’t ask to borrow money though, ok?