The mine had been the obvious choice. It provided steady income and employed almost everyone in town. Not to mention that his father and grandfather had both worked there. Sam would never forget the approval in his father's eyes when he told him he would continue the tradition.

​

In a rare moment of glee, his father repeated the same words his own father passed down a generation ago.

“You and your family will never go hungry. The life of a miner is hard, but the earth will provide all you need if you dig deep enough.”

​

The problem with the obvious choice is sometimes it’s the wrong choice. Every time Sam left the surface and descended into the darkness, he second guessed his decision to live his life in the mine. 

 

His doubt triggered guilt. There were others with far less opportunity and good fortune than himself. Why couldn’t he be grateful for all he had? He knew why, but it was hard to admit.

​

He wanted to use his miners tools to sculpt, not to dig for coal miles under the ground. He wanted to build monuments for all to enjoy. He worked hard to hone his skills, but long days in the mine often left him too exhausted to pick up his chisel. 

​

Despite his current limitations, his talent was apparent. Friends and family would comment on his creations saying things like

“Wow! Such detail!”

“What a great hobby!”

“This must be a great release from the stresses of your day in the mine!”

 

He appreciated their kind words, but he was tired of his passion being resigned to the label of hobby. While sculpting the universe felt right. Manipulating stone, breathing life into cold dark rock, this was his purpose. He envisioned statues of great leaders, busts of loved ones, and giant sculptures made for kids to act out their wildest fantasies. He wanted to pursue this more than anything...but he was scared. 

 

Scared to leave the financial security of the mine. Scared to see the look on his father's face when he delivered the news. Scared of the unknown. 

 

Sometimes he thought the mine would suffocate him, but at least it was familiar.

 

During lunch breaks, he would sit in the dim light of his lantern picturing what creations he would make out of all the stone around him. As he took a bite of his gritty ham sandwich, the same thought he had a thousand times before echoed in his mind. 

“I’m going to leave! Someday...”