On Friday I reached the end of my three-year job commitment. When I started this job, I had to sign a document stating that I’d stay at the job for at least three years. Everyone else has ti sign the same document. I think it’s because they don’t want us leaving too soon for higher-paying jobs in the private sector.

Three years ago, three years seemed like a long time, but they’ve gone by pretty quickly and uneventfully. While my personal life has had its ups and downs and dramatic moments, my job situation has been pretty constant. And while I spent parts of the past three years wishing they’d go by faster or thinking it might be worth a resignation in bad standing in order to leave before my time was up, I’ve come to feel relatively content in my job. It’s not my life’s work, but for now it’ll do.

My fear is that one day I’ll turn around and realize I’ve been here for 30 years. I don’t want that to happen. I’ve got goals, murky though they may be. Starting tonight, I’m taking a 10-week class in feature writing. I want to have a writing career. Choire is still a role model for me in some ways; while I don’t write about the same things he does, I admire how he’s managed to convey a natural writing talent into several ongoing gigs, including Gawker (previously) and occasional pieces for the New York Times. One of my dreams would be to write regularly for the New Yorker, like Malcolm Gladwell and Adam Gopnik and Louis Menand and Rebecca Mead do. Mostly, though, I just want to feel free to write whatever the hell I want and to express whatever the hell opinion I want without worrying about getting fired for it.

One of the themes of “Angels in America” is that human beings naturally want to keep moving. We can’t help but have dreams to fulfill. I want to fulfill mine, or I want to at least hope that I can.