A life of [wasted] potential

I have a vision.
It isn't in a city,
there isn't a membership,
beyond those of a rich lifestyle.
I come across another retreat.
So exclusive,
you can't even apply online.
resumes are only accepting
on the rarest of parchment,
written in gold and saint blood.
I've always been a dreamer.
Envisioning myself places.
Either I've never made it,
or reality always falls short.
I know I am not proactive enough.
The hardest part of the journey is the beginning.
I think of giving up altogether.
Resigning to my normalcy.
I am not special.
I do not deserve to life I want.
Suck it up.
Work a job.
Pay the bills.
Die.
More often I just want to skip to step four.
What holds back the knife,
the gun,
the pills,
the ledge?
Connections?
The sadness such a selfish acts brings.
Because we all live in shit.
My ancestors suffered far worse.
Ambitions we simple,
a plot of land,
a fire to warm the bones,
a plate of food to fill the stomach.
Or is it the possibilities?
The adventures.
The road yet to travel.
A combination of the two.
Yet people also hold me back.
She-Ra holds me back.
So I think.
Or is it just another excuse,
something to blame,
other than my apathy.
I just found you can apply.
No blank forms,
just an email address.
An opportunity to set myself apart.
No gold type needed.
Just data and Easterday charm.