There are a great many things I enjoy. So many things I wouldn't mind spending my time doing. In fact, right now my life is heading in the direction of doing things I don't mind doing. But that's not good enough for me.
For quite some time I've developed a yearning to follow my dreams. To live my passions. I've lectured and convinced myself time and time again just why I should give up all of the mediocrity that absorbs my life, and focus instead on the things I love, the thoughts of which make my heart race and steal all of my mind's attention away.
But the passions which I urge on to engross me, the dreams that I beg to at least consider me, I am blind to them.
No matter how many times I tell myself that, with patience, my heart will lead me to the place which I unconsciously seek, I can't get rid of the feeling that I might just find myself waiting forever. I can't eliminate the possibility that society has convinced me to put my dreams aside, and scrub all traces of them from my memory. What if I've been leading a life for these 18 years, which has meant a metamorphisis that I can not revert? Has my soul been taken--no, has it been given away, never to be found again? That can't be it, for if I did not have a bit of it left to spare, the simple thought of having dreams would have been shunned by its conqueror.
Some men start as boys with unfaultering aspirations: "I want to be a fireman when I grow up!" "I want to build bridges when I grow up!" "I want to be a doctor!" I recall no such visions. Were my dreams ever there? Were they snuffed out before they even had a chance to germinate? Before I could even recognize them? Could it be, that my entire life I've been trying so hard to let the right things happen by themselves, that I've trained myself not to make them happen myself?
I could not deny any of those accusations, whether I were to accept them all or not. But upon realizing that living ones dreams is the only way to truly live, I thought that following this epiphany would be the discovery of what I loved. Time goes on, and I have yet to find what I love.
Do I wait forever? What if it never comes? I've allowed myself to experience many things, and like I said, many of them I enjoy. But none of them could I completely devote myself to.
A man cannot be completely devoid of dreams... can he? I don't want to believe that, but I will not deny the truth, if that's what it is. I can only hope that my dreams surface eventually... and when they do, I will grasp them with an unbreakable iron grip. I will seize them and never allow them to leave me.
I just hope they come soon, because there is nothing worse than expecting something that turns its back on you and never comes.
So for those of you who believe you might have an answer, I implore you: where do dreams hide themselves?
For quite some time I've developed a yearning to follow my dreams. To live my passions. I've lectured and convinced myself time and time again just why I should give up all of the mediocrity that absorbs my life, and focus instead on the things I love, the thoughts of which make my heart race and steal all of my mind's attention away.
But the passions which I urge on to engross me, the dreams that I beg to at least consider me, I am blind to them.
No matter how many times I tell myself that, with patience, my heart will lead me to the place which I unconsciously seek, I can't get rid of the feeling that I might just find myself waiting forever. I can't eliminate the possibility that society has convinced me to put my dreams aside, and scrub all traces of them from my memory. What if I've been leading a life for these 18 years, which has meant a metamorphisis that I can not revert? Has my soul been taken--no, has it been given away, never to be found again? That can't be it, for if I did not have a bit of it left to spare, the simple thought of having dreams would have been shunned by its conqueror.
Some men start as boys with unfaultering aspirations: "I want to be a fireman when I grow up!" "I want to build bridges when I grow up!" "I want to be a doctor!" I recall no such visions. Were my dreams ever there? Were they snuffed out before they even had a chance to germinate? Before I could even recognize them? Could it be, that my entire life I've been trying so hard to let the right things happen by themselves, that I've trained myself not to make them happen myself?
I could not deny any of those accusations, whether I were to accept them all or not. But upon realizing that living ones dreams is the only way to truly live, I thought that following this epiphany would be the discovery of what I loved. Time goes on, and I have yet to find what I love.
Do I wait forever? What if it never comes? I've allowed myself to experience many things, and like I said, many of them I enjoy. But none of them could I completely devote myself to.
A man cannot be completely devoid of dreams... can he? I don't want to believe that, but I will not deny the truth, if that's what it is. I can only hope that my dreams surface eventually... and when they do, I will grasp them with an unbreakable iron grip. I will seize them and never allow them to leave me.
I just hope they come soon, because there is nothing worse than expecting something that turns its back on you and never comes.
So for those of you who believe you might have an answer, I implore you: where do dreams hide themselves?