They call it "The Rock" for a reason, both figurative and literal.
Maybe this is why I've always had an obsession with Frank Morris, John Anglin and Clarence Anglin, the 3 escapees who vanished from the rock in 1962, and whose bodies were never seen again on land or sea.
The idea of the escape, as preposterous and under dogged as it may seem. The planning, the dreaming, the executing of it all is something I've experienced though not from a federal penitentiary but in the confines of my own life and mind.
Who hasn't looked out their office window and dreamed of leaving it all behind, leaving for the day and never coming back, saying goodbye with the most nonverbal of cues, a simple nod or a crooked smile.
And while I can't fully condone their actions, there is that part of me that takes my hat off to them and stops to think about what that morning must have been like for them. Past the point of no return, where they were now closer to their dreams than they ever would be if they went back.
It almost doesn't matter whether or not they made it and survived the frigid waters of SF Bay.
When it comes to our dreams and ambitions, I think all that matters is that we jump off the rock, we leave our cell behind, we move forward in a way that cannot be undone. We escape.