Childhood Dreams

This may ramble a bit so I apologize in advance. If you’re an editor or English teacher or still have scars from prior grammar classes please take a dose of tolerance before reading. 😀

I was discussing movies and books with a friend today. Did we want to watch a video tonight? Were either of us ever going to write a book, and if so, what would it be about?

That led to discussing ‘writing what you know’ vs imagination and fantasy.

I said that my fantasy was leading a boring life.
Of course the true fantasy is having enough money to go to school and learn whatever I wanted; to learn new trades and practice that trade without worrying about whether I could make a living at it; to be able to spend the time required to become proficient at some type of art, some creative endeavor.
But that’s it, no drama, no excitement, no heroics. No living my life for the benefit of others; no sacrificing my needs and wishes for the good of others, whether individuals or nations. No magnificent journeys full of trials, tribulations, or ‘great wisdom’ moments.

This isn’t the first time I’ve thought on this topic. I’ve frequently wondered why so much of our leisure time is spent viewing (whether through film or print) heroic adventures full of pain, heartbreak, and destiny.

I’ve spent many years wondering why I felt that I must have some ‘great purpose’, and that if I could only find it then all the pain would be worth the enduring.

I remember the moment when I realized that I no longer yearned to be the hero, when I no longer pretended to identify with the protagonist.
I remember the day when I found myself looking around the theater watching the younger members of the audience and thinking “they’re so young, so full of energy; they don’t yet know that what they want to do can’t be done, and just maybe, they will be able to do some of that before they learn that it isn’t possible.”
I remember the regret I felt then, when I accepted that the dreams of childhood were over.

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