I’ve always thought of it as trying to achieve escape velocity. And for those of us born into the working poor, it’s like trying to achieve escape velocity with a pogo stick.

I wish I had spent my 20s rich and happy. After my childhood and adolescence, I was so convinced that if I just got away from my parents, got into college, could get a good job, that I’d be able to escape poverty.

I tried — and I failed at all of those things. I crashed and burned.

And now I’m approaching 30, middle age, with almost no money, kept with a roof over my head purely through the good will of others. And it’s hard. I wish I had found my way out in time to be like all of the other 20-something on Instagram, at Coachella, living happy and worthwhile lives without this gnawing worry about money.