When I was 22 I worked for a small firm making good money as an account manager and salesman. I spent three years on an industrial estate in Oxfordshire in what I now realise was a bubble of blissful ignorance. At first the job was fun. Compared to retail management (which I had quit due to unbelievably long hours and low pay) this was a holiday.

I remember the first week very well for two reasons in particular. Firstly, despite it still being common place for people to smoke at their desks, I really enjoyed the happy money making environment. I was at last taking some control of my own destiny. And secondly because of an event I had in the shower of my new lodgings (raised eyebrows all round!). The shower cubicle was built into the wall and had a door which split down the middle to slide to one side. It was practically hermetically sealed. I stepped in, and whilst showering felt I should pinch myself for not only landing a plum job back in my beloved home county but also because I felt I must be missing a key point if this job seemed so easy. I finished my shower and went to step out but could I open the door? Most definitely not.

When I was young my brothers and I used to play a game called smurf war. We would all get into our blue sleeping bags and launch ourselves at each other in a kind of moshing action. But my brother, who was unbelievably cruel to me when I was a child and also much bigger than me, used to push my head down into my sleeping bag and seal of the top with an iron like grip. Being prone to a little claustrophobia I used to freak out until, fearing that my cries of sheer terror would bring one of my parents up the stairs with the dreaded 'spoon' he would let me out.

Stuck in the shower and suddenly feeling caught between the terror of what seemed to be a rapidly exhausting air supply and the alternate fear of embarrassment at seeking help when I was trapped bollock naked in my new lodgings, that feeling of claustrophobia came flooding back. I searched for the release of the door in a panic. Couldn't find it.

Being six feet tall and well built I decided it was better to wreck the door than to suffocate and began to shoulder barge it but with limited 'run up' all I managed to do was flex the door a little and feel a sudden rush of cold air which I gulped in gladly before being sprung back into my steamy soon to be sarcophagus. Having repeatedly barged the door in an effort to get out my hand slipped to the central divider between the two doors where I found a cunningly concealed finger hold. I pulled and the doors swung open. I stepped from my new and newly wrecked cubicle feeling totally stupid. I think maybe this was a sign of things to come. I have had a tendency to wreck things in an attempt to escape feeling trapped.

In time, my work in the office began to drag me down. Although I was making good money, I began to hate repeating the same kinds of conversation with the same kinds of people. To this day I find repetition torturous. At that time, and following a parachute jump which made me realise there was more to life, I hatched my escape plan and over the next year I brought it into reality (more on that some other time...).

Why am I talking about this? Well, last night my best friend came round for his weekly feed and natter. He looked pretty dejected when he walked through the door and the conversation eventually got round to why this was so. Many moons ago my friend chose to stay in a job which bored him because his agenda was not one of reaching out into the world for new experiences in the way that mine was.

Ten years with the same firm, doggedly avoiding redundancy offers and the temptations of telling his managers to kiss their derrieres and a short period with a couple of other companies eventually brought him to what might be termed consultant status within business. At this point he left, set up his own firm and now makes astronomical money as a self employed consultant.

The thing is, he chose a path which brought him everything he could dream of except the one thing he really wants, a good woman in his life.

Talking last night, we came to the conclusion that we had both chosen paths that ended us up envying the other. As a poorly paid and miserably treated paramedic harbouring seething ambitions for greatness and kudos, I would love to be in his position; well paid, respected and consulted.

He looks upon my married life and feels that time is running out. He feels that despite all his efforts he just can't seem to change his life in this respect. He feels that it is beyond his control.

And having cast about for an alternative to excrement covered patients and excrement talking managers, I too feel frustrated and desperate that my chance to get recognition and success is slipping away.

My point is this. Having both made decisions that were right for us at the time, our lives had unfolded roughly in the shadow of one another, his path leading to prosperity and kudos, mine to memories and crazy experience and stable marriage. Each dissatisfied in one key aspect, we both want a bit of what the other has but are losing hope of making it happen. It raises the question; what could we have done in the past or do now to make us satisfied?

If anyone has the answer, I would love to hear it.