The universe provides ...

Did I have what took to risk everything on the dream of becoming a real, honest-to-goodness author? That is, after all, what it was: a dream.  My dream of course; but, still just a dream; and, what is a dream if not a wish wrapped in a chrysalis of hope?  Wishing and hoping are such weak sisters.  I almost regret having used them just now; almost, but not quite.  The truth is, I had often wished (and hoped), as a young man that my words could make a difference in the world; that they I could reach out and capture the imagination of others, as mine had been captured by such notables as Dumas, Doyle, Bradbury and Rand. Was I willing to risk everything I had ever worked for, everything I had earned, to "become" what God had crafted me to be?
Yes.
I was.
But, as with most stories, my "hero" (get ready, I'm about to change tenses) didn't do it alone.  He had help from a source he never expected; in a fashion he never have envisioned.
After leaving the US Coast Guard (where I served as an oceanographer/meteorologist on the USCGC Winnebago), I entered the workplace as, of all things, an insurance broker.  What a mistake that was!  A twenty five year mistake, as it turned out; and each day, a lifetime sentence on the fifth level of hell (I hope I'm not being obscure here).  I really hated what I did, almost as much as what I had become: a pathetic supplicant constantly kowtowing to his life style and possessions. I wanted to leave, fantasized about it all the time; but, never did.  I just grew morose and spiritually despondent, as I watched my life slip away into an ever-expanding grey morass of nothingness (an illusion that so permeated my thoughts, that I couldn't help but write it into my first novel).  Even after I had chosen to dedicate myself to writing and becoming the author of my dreams, I was still inert; still incapable of that final act of defiance; still emotionally impaled on the horns of my dependency.
It was at this point that universe stepped in.
One of my co-workers, Bob, had taken ill.  Actually, it was a lot more than just "ill".  He was dying of a particularly nasty form of cancer .  Our paths had crossed several times and at several houses over the years (something not uncommon in the brokerage community in New York), and I had come to respect him for the brilliant, honest and loyal man that he was.
Every morning I would walk into his office, share a cup of coffee and chat.  It was difficult to watch that once powerful, decisive man sink day by day a little lower into his seat; and know that one day soon, that seat would be occupied by another. It was also difficult to hear the snide comments and caustic jibes that lesser men (I hesitate to call them colleagues) bantered between themselves about him and his condition. It made me sick to realize just how low and despicable the human animal could sink. Finally, after months of cellular corrosion and emotional trauma, my friend passed away.
At the wake, people did what people always do at times like that: they chatted about nonsense; tossed platitudes at the grieving widow; and, secretly thanked their stars that it was he, not they, with coins on his eyes.
As I stood there I realized one very important and life-changing thing: I didn't want to go to my grave without ever having lived; and, what I had been doing up to that point was surviving, not living.  I didn't want people to gather around my lifeless body and say: "he was a good insurance man".  That's like saying: "he was an acceptable slug"!
Through my friend, the universe has spoken to me.  And, finally, I was willing and able to listen and act.  The very next day I walked into my bosses office and quit.  My future was now unsure, uncharted and completely in my own hands.  
Thanks Bob.