The Practical and The Improbable

Every child creative eventually has to decide between keeping their head in the clouds and chasing their dreams, or planting their feet firmly in the ground and grind it out in the “real world.”

I, like many artistic children, was molded by practical parents to lean away from dreams and into reality. My parents are grounded, responsible, logical people. They wanted their children to grow into successful, well-rounded, adults. They wantes us to have ambition more than they wanted us to have dreams. They would say “whatever makes you happy,” but we know they would prefer climbing the corporate ladder versus living as a starving artist.

Their support always left a fearful taste in my mouth. They would say:

“You’d be a great gymnast, but do you know how much work goes into being a professional athlete? Even if you train every day, there’s no guarantee you’d go pro.”

“Yeah, Disney liked your tape and wants you to come in for auditions, but it’s not fair to take the whole family to Florida just for you to audition.”

“Writing is a great hobby. You just shouldn’t build your whole life around it. You’ll need a real job.”

So, from a young age I began to find the balance between practical choices and improbable dreams. Subconsiously, I began shelving piees of myself. I chose a major I knew was “secure”, but was still somewhat enjoyable. I dropped out to save money, and was lucky enough to find a job that paid the bills – with a little left over.

But here’s the truth: Practical doesn’t mean fulfilled. I go home too tired to create. I go to bed too numb to dream. I wake up too exhausted to make a change.

But security doesn’t mean you can’t leap, as long as you have the strength to.

So I write in the spare moments at my desk job.

Just like my parents said I would.