I've always believed it's the journey, not the destination. Unless of course, the hitchhiker you picked up thinks he's the state bird and goes, "Coo! Caw! Coo! Caw!" every time you reach for the radio knob. In that case, it's really just the destination that matters.After graduating college with a degree in journalism, I spent a huge chunk of my life with a giant insurance company. I investigated hundreds of bodily injury claims as a field adjuster: gun accidents, slip and falls, explosions, trampoline accidents and dog bites. Once a man fell off a trampoline, which scared the dog, who bit the man, which caused him to slip and fall a second time... luckily, there were no guns involved in this one.Eventually adjusters left the field and sat in a carpeted cube farm in a building the size of Mount Sneffels. Why carpeted cubes you ask? So you don't injure yourself banging your head against the wall.For all those years, I balanced raising a family with my stand up life, my speaker life and my day job. I finally left insurance land. Happily, my children survived my constant warnings of impending doom. While replacing broken shingles years later, I learned this. As soon as I left town, they would pull the trampoline to the edge of the house and gleefully launch themselves off the roof. Metaphorically speaking, I had been trying to do this for years.I do stand-up comedy. I write songs. I act.