Seriously. Just once, I would like for someone to hand me a million bucks and a gold star. No, I wouldn't. And here is where the true insight comes in: If the things you really want- all your dreams and hopes and inner desires- were easy to come by, it would cheapen them somehow. They wouldn't be special anymore.
Writing is hard work. Its mental torture, a sickness really. Its a roller coaster of highs and lows that makes you lose sleep and doubt your sanity. But there is nothing in the world that I want more (you know, aside from a healthy family, immortality and world peace...). One day, I will look back on all my hard work and know that I deserve any good thing that comes of it- because I worked my ass off to get there.
This post makes me think of my Dad (he was one of the hard things). We used to watch the Red Green Show together when I was younger. In the words of the venerable Red:
"Keep your stick on the ice. Remember, I'm pulling for you. We're all in this together."