Somewhere in the world, there was once–and still might be–a small room, locked and windowless. At any given time, a small majority of the fluorescent lights in this room would struggle to radiate something unnatural. Here, in the corner of the ceiling, was a series of brown, frequently moist ceiling tiles. The life of each one of these tiles began with its installation, and this would be followed by the tile becoming saturated with water from a leak that had been fixed “permanently” many times, which, eventually, would lead to the tile looking like a zit ready to pop, until, at last, the tile would fall to the floor, a pulpy puddle, and the process would begin again.

For the better half of a decade, that described where I worked.

The only good that came from me being inside that room with a water feature was the irresistible urge it gave me to create an escape plan. Along with ensuring that I would not be caught while scaling barbed wire–powered by no less than 5,000 volts of metaphor–and compelled to serve extra time, an integral part of the plan was figuring out how I could spend more time doing those things that I think I have a talent for. And that was when I started to think about what would become boom toob and its first podcast, “The Gone Show.”

Having successfully mounted this escape, I learned that I really only needed two things: confidence and an ability and willingness to earn much, much, much less money. Those closest to me helped with that first item, and, as for the second, it’s worth it to no longer have to make small talk with the ceiling tile installer.

By Bannon Backhus