You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride
but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true…
Billy Joel, “Vienna”

I’ve begun to realize that there might come a point in life where you stop living your life for others and start living for yourself. Maybe this is due to defiance, trying to prove something to yourself, to them…Or maybe this occurs through self-awareness, as you realize that only you alone can lead your life. But for whatever reason, there seems to be a change, where you stop trying to appease others, where you learn to lead your own life, where you realize that, while those you love may have led you this far, you have the means to carry yourself the rest of the way, wherever that might be.

This thought about what I want out of my life and how to get it is at the forefront today. Practicality and advice tell me to do one thing, while a passion and intuition tell me to do another.

There’s a balance there that I haven’t yet found. And so I find myself a bit torn, between that practicality and passion, between being a dreamer and a realist, and between being ever-grateful for what I have and longing for something more.

Like most of my generation, I grew up believing that anything was possible. While at times I’ve felt jaded, while my rose-colored glasses have faded, to be replaced by responsibility and, in a word, reality, I still believe this sentiment to be true. Anything is possible. It’s just getting there that’s the tough part.

I’ve had to take a hard look at what’s stopping me from achieving my dreams, and, in doing so, I’ve had to examine what it is I really want out of life. What would it mean if I could remove the guilt of wanting something greater, something more? What if I had nothing keeping me back, if I didn’t concern myself with others’ judgments or societal pressures?

If I were to be truly honest with myself, if I could strip away boundaries and convention and responsibility and realize my greatest desires, I would find myself taking chances, believing in possibility, and living a dream.

I would move to Europe, where I could explore culture and walk the streets of history. I would spend my days writing and connecting with other artists, helping fellow writers achieve their desired success. I would advocate on the behalf of animals, find peace and joy in having dogs constantly by my side. I would want to find the kind of love I’ve always been searching for; I would want to raise a family.

I would want to live each and every day feeling inspired and challenged and experiencing something new.

This is who I am. When I cut out everything else, I am a dreamer, a romantic. I don’t know why I ever thought I could be satisfied being anything else.

And I find that I don’t know how to settle for less.

Is this just a castle in the clouds, a dream not meant to be realized? Are dreams meant for longing; is reality meant for settling? Do we adjust our dreams so that we settle for some variation of it, always wanting that something more?

When it all comes down to it, I’ve placed those barriers in my own path, and only I can remove them. But it’s going to take courage and faith. And while I’m determined to make these dreams someday become my reality, sometimes I wonder if I have enough of both.

I’m just trying to find
A decent melody
A song that I can sing
In my own company…
U2, “Stuck In A Moment”

For the past two months I’ve been pleasantly overwhelmed by waves of inspiration and a newfound sense of creative motivation. I’ve been writing stories, blog posts, and working on freelance projects; I’ve had ideas brewing for the new website, community involvement, and personal art and writing projects. Every day I would wake up with a renewed sense of determination and ambition, eager for ways to express myself creatively, curious to see what I could produce and where it might lead.

For the first time in a very long time, I felt like I had a passion and a purpose: I had found my place.

But the weeks have slowly slipped away as I’ve settled back into my 9-5 routine, and the inspiration and empowerment I felt since my return seems to be fading. I’ve spent the past week and a half struggling to write an article, only the words just aren’t coming; I have two blog posts that I’ve written and rewritten, only to relegate them back into the drafts folder; I have a new site getting ready to launch that I’m now questioning. What bothers me the most, however, is that I have stories to tell, but my characters are no longer talking.

Or maybe I’m just not finding the time to listen. Either way, I’m having a great deal of difficulty tapping back into that mindset and staying there.

Creativity and writing is such a huge part of me that its indulgence is the only time when I feel truly myself, when I feel alive and not like I’m merely going through the motions of the day. Creativity allows me a sense of freedom and focus, to imagine that anything is possible, to believe in beauty and good and all those horrible clichés. Writing allows me to ask the questions and purge the feelings I’m not willing to speak out loud; for me, it’s what breeds my compassion and understanding, allows me to grow as an individual.

Through these creative outlets, I become something more; through writing, I’m everything I could ever dare to be: I am a painter, a poet, a memory-keeper. I am a philosopher, a scientist, and a fortune-teller. I am an architect, an engineer, a craftsman. I am a student and a teacher, an artist and the art. I am a writer.

It’s my passion, my pride, and my purpose. And while I love to work, while I enjoy helping people and finding solutions to problems, while I excel at the administrative tasks and find pleasure in an office environment, I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t make me happy in the same way that writing and being among writers does.

I’m going to indulge in overdramatics because it’s the only way I know how to express just how much this is affecting me: When I feel suffocated and stifled, creativity is what allows me to breathe. And right now, I feel desperate, frustrated, because that outlet has been replaced with the mandatory job. And I’ve never, ever wanted to settle.

I’m stuck with a strong sense of obligation, trapped between responsibility and expectation. Point blank: I need the paycheck that comes with the job. And I don’t know if anyone around me would understand my desire to give that up for a passion, a dream.

I only know that I’m not in any position to take that risk on my own.

Every single part of me knows that this is not the life I want to lead. That’s hard to admit to, if only because it means that something now has to change, and that change will mean relying on courage and chance, and I never quite know if I have enough of one to believe in the other.

I want to dream; I want to believe in possibility and I want to take chances.. But most of all, I want it to matter.