There is a certain percentage of office workers who cajole themselves into going into the field of office working with the reassurance, “This is just to support myself until I fulfill my real dream.” Whatever the token dream is–being a musician, artist, writer, etc.–it is what you use to initially propel you toward a job your younger, less jaded self would never have permitted.
And so, the days in your cube pass uneventfully, each one the same as the last, until suddenly, it’s been five years and you’re no closer to your so-called dream. Sure, you’ve occasionally practiced “your craft” a few hours a week when you’re not condemned to the symbolic chains of your office chair, but it’s hardly enough of an effort put forth to get you any closer to living out your quitting fantasy as you’ve so long envisioned it.
Thus, the mantra of your daily life eventually becomes, “Plz God, can someone pluck me from obscurity?” (“plz” stated in that specific manner, yes). Because relying on yourself to break free from the office becomes too much of a personal burden, and you can’t help but imagine that there’s got to be someone else out there who will release you from your cage, since you’re clearly incapable of doing it yourself.