It is one of my least attractive traits, of which there are many.

Lately, there has been lots of wondering as to whether I’ve done enough in my 25 years of life. Perhaps this is my real Quarterlife Crisis, who knows.

I know a lot of people who are doing amazing, interesting, provocative things. I am….not.

I probably seem more impressive than I am. Let me take a minute to be ridiculously humble. Most people have a blog. A lot of people make money from it. So the blogging isn’t that special, really.

My job is really a hodge podge of stuff that no one else really has the time or know-how to do. Not even know-how, energy is more like it. I do not know how to code, so that puts me behind a million other web producers and I have no multi-media skills because I’ve been put in a position where I’m not likely to gain any. I am whining, yes.

So I am not impressive, I think. I have managed to do quite little with my 25 years except get burned out by the industry i once fell in love with. I love journalism, but somewhere in the past two years, it’s scorned me like no other lover has. I cannot make amends with it and every time I try to, it turns me away.

So I am jealous of my journalism friends who are in jobs where they are achieving things. Making new products, writing killer stories. Anyone who is not burned out, basically.

I’m jealous of people who got out, because they had the skills and networking to make the shift.

I’m jealous of people who can afford to live alone, buy a house, a new car, or a fancy dinner once in a while. I love to cook, but it gets tiring sometimes.

I’m jealous of the people who do not need to be in love with their career to be happy. I wish it were that easy for me.

Jealousy is a sin, or whatever. It’s a bad trait. It is always greener on the other side of the fence, they say. They say a lot of things. I recognize I probably am impressive, that a lot of 25-year-olds have not conquered the world. But at 18 I felt like I was going places. At 23, I felt on top of the world. Now I’m that old curmudgeonly bastard in the corner.