Confessions Of A Dreaming Realist

I have always thought of myself as a realist. It has shocked me so that this is more untrue as the years go by. Alas, I have come to terms with myself. I am a dreamer.

I believe this all started as a child when I used to think I was going to become a professional pianist. (Also, encouraged by my parents.) I was good and had talent. People recognized it. I loved music, and I still do. It was the regular practicing that became of my musical downfall. I hated to practice. Scales, arpeggios, exercises; they were all so boring to me. I never had the patience to sit down and take time developing my fingers. Music used to be so easy to me, as everything else was, until my weak fingers lacked technicality and strength in difficult pieces. I peaked at RCM Grade 8 (out of 10 grade levels) and found my hands hindering than progressing. It was a struggle to play the music written on the page, to play the music I heard in my head, to play well. Eventually, I gave up and quit.

This epiphany truly occurred to me when I realized that I was not going to become a CSI. I had it all planned out. After I graduated college, I would independently complete 10 high school courses before I could apply to university. I would be, at least, 30 years old before I finished all the required studies - high school and university. This definitely didn't go as planned. I had given up before finishing the first course, Grade 11 Functions and Relations. I thought I would have the discipline to do independent work, but I was very wrong. I was merely excited by the show, the possibility of being successful in a career of crime scene investigating.

My new dreaming phase is photography. I love taking pictures, especially of detailed, candid, and photojournalistic types of photos. In general, I love art and admire artists for their creativity, uniqueness, and ability to draw people in to their private world. I don't have any art training. But I do know some of the fundamentals of art. I believe I have taken some great photos over the past year that I've owned a digital camera. Being a dreamer, of course, I'm inclined to think I can become a photographer with no training. And I'm inclined to think it great if I became a fashion photographer. Accordingly, I think it fun to be a makeup artist. Deep down, it all sounds ridiculous to me, but that glint of hope and chance overshadows the daftness and absurdity.

It's true, I am quite foolish. I believe my idealist ways stems from my criticizing, passive, idling side. (This is a major therapeutic breakthrough.) I used to be a hardworker and aimed to please my teachers. As I've grown up, I've become uninspired, uninterested, and unenthusiastic. I still like to please others, but evading to please myself have consequently affected this immensely. I've become lost in a world of possiblities and asserted myself from taking any action through self-criticisms. The change from the comfortableness, the fear of a failing outcome, the dejection; because of these reservations, my life is currently at a standstill, refusing to move forward while fading into the background of time and futility.

I have put my heart out there and have written more than I intended to reveal. I initially wanted this post to be light-hearted and casual, revealing more of my personal oddity. Instead, it has turned into a true confession. I do apologize for the despondent mood, but I do not apologize for what I have written.