I am having one of those dose of reality moments.

Previously, I looked upon my year of mania as being a thrilling worthwhile experience. I had no regrets even though it came at great cost - $50,000 over ten months, a job, and relationships. But I had always found some value. I did some pretty fantastic things I reminded myself for which the average person has no opportunity. I looked back and said, "I did XYZ" and I'm proud of it.

Today marks the six year anniversary of my quitting a job and running away to live my dream. But that dream didn't last. I realise for the first time today that this all is regrettable. I am not better off having lived these experiences and they came at a heavy price.

It is not sadness. Just a matter of factness. This adventure was not worth living my present hardship. The money I would have saved alone would have made my life today better.