A friend asked me recently what were my dreams. I rattled off a short list of safe, realistic and attainable goals: to be a pastry chef, to work in the computer industry and something else boring and unimaginative. "I don't dream big, I dream practical," I said. "Your homework assignment," my friend responded, "is to come up with a dream. And make it big."
Since I don't normally allow myself the luxury of having wild dreams, I had to dig deep within my childhood memories to pull out even the slightest impractical fantasy. I daydreamed a lot as a kid, always envisioning myself being a celebrity of some sort - actor, singer, whatever - not because I have a secret love of performing but because celebrities have the love and acceptance of the masses, two things I have craved since childhood. I have never seriously indulged this fantasy because I deemed it to be unhealthy. The motivation is all wrong.
Okay as I was typing this entry, it hit me. I am almost embarrassed to mention it but a very secret, as in I have told no one, dream of mine is to somehow make a living writing. How out of touch with my feelings am I? But again, because I don't indulge impractical ambitions, I tucked this aspiration away so deep inside that it took over a week to come to the surface. And come to the surface it did. My big dream. To be a writer. Now what?
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3 comments:
Naw, become an actress, then you can play Mother Theresa instead of Paris. And yes, that news bit is true, sorry to break it to you. However, her casting is not yet set in stone. Pretty wierd, no?
God help us all!
Now keep writing, have fun with it, see where it takes you. You never know.
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