When my half-brother Paul turned 26, he headed out on his own, passed the bar, and set up shop as a Personal Injury Attorney in California in the capitol city of Sacramento.  He did quite well for himself too.  Soon he was going to LA, San Diego, San Francisco, and all over the state for clients.  He was highly paid and a highly regarded Personal Injury Attorney in California.  Then one day, he suddenly quit.  He closed down his office and referred his clients to other lawyers that he knew and trusted.  He’d saved up enough money that he’d be able to get by for a while, but no one understood why he had just quit like that.  He moved into a cabin out in the woods outside Sacramento and just started writing poetry.  Some of it was good and some of it was horrendously bad.  He published a few poems here and there, but anyone can tell you that no one can get by on just being a poet, especially a mediocre one.  Now he’s also grown this huge thick beard and barely ever goes into town for anything.  He rarely even answers his phone anymore these days.