Concurrency of the major and the minor dream

When I was starting this new post, I sat here after writing that title and felt a mixture of surprise, self pity (which Wikipedia has told me is not bad as long as it is transitory. I didn't care to read further.) and a certain warmth that I feel when I feel like I've struck up something I can rant about. The surprise was for the ease with which I wrote the title and the subsequent rush of feelings. The self pity was for the simple reason that this would be the most exciting thing that has happened to me in a while.
There's a certain glamorous appeal to being someone who possesses the ability to juggle several things at once. I know that whenever I've had one of those day dreams where you chart out your daily routine when you're 25, I happen to be someone who drives while talking on the phone, cooks amazing delicacies while continuously taking voice notes for the next big project for that big dotcom, living in a big tidy place with always enough socks and underwear. I can't help but want to try a hand at everything.
So do you. We all harbor dreams of being relevant in different ways, but always have an ongoing dream we build while walking through life. In high school, it could be being the smartest or the most popular. In college, it could be similar or, for this country, having the most drinking capacity. At work, it could be that managerial position you've always thought would help with the brand new black top in the driveway. There's that dream that we continue to add to. And there's the other big one that keeps getting cut from. That musician's dream, or that author's dream, or the dream of having a perfectly cut stomach, which soon turns into a proud sign of prosperity, giving shade to your feet on a very sunny day.
First, let me deal with absolutes and not refer to context. Is it wrong to want to be a model or a movie star? Or is it wrong to slowly let that flair ebb away as you realize that you are built for more achievable, graspable concepts? Is it right to not quit your job and travel to LA because you know that no one can make the music you can? Is there an absolute? Is absolutism even a relevant concept anymore? It never really was the way I consider it.

To me, there's a slight dust covered goat path that takes you where you want to be. Where you need to be as a person, and where you want to be as a dreamer. I think it's important to not let any part of your dream go, to not let the pressures of a college major or 9 to 5 job slow down the progress your artistic, or in another way, talented mind. Making those two dreams meet would be the greatest thing anyone could want for themselves. But even a few moments of contact lead us to renew our faith either way, even if getting there is the biggest test of it. Eventually however, It really is only those people who make things harder for themselves by wanting to do it right, and wanting to do it completely who make it through without a regret to stop them. It isn't the easiest thing to do, nor is it the most feasible at most times. But it's something that comforts someone who cares enough about themselves to have looked back and analyzed their traversed road.

Personally, I will never be that person who practices what he preaches. I will never be someone who could do everything, I will always leave behind what I can not recognize the value of. And I am also the person who doesn't have transitory pity or motivational self-judgment. But the comfort of putting a pin on what's going on is what keeps us trying to knit and stitch every bit of the dream we do live. And for those who do make the bigger ones, they exist outside the realm of my little cynical world. And boy do I want to cross over to the other side.

But then again, why would someone preach if they could do it and show the world anyway?

Of Endings and Beginnings.

The  last time I tried to write, I was 16 and considered myself to be the greatest teenage literary mind of my time. Of course, like any other morose daydream it was the stupidest thing I can recall, because today even the silliest emails require a thoughtful pause on my end.Nevertheless, I consider myself gifted because of these very day dreams and funnily enough, they seem to sap all my talent in a very complex way. It's like you waste every living moment dreaming of something, or wanting something with this cramping craving in the pit of your stomach. And surprisingly, if you'd only lived that moment, that very thing you craved for wouldn't have slipped out of your hands.

But I don't want to get stuck within the confines of my over-ambitious mind. I'm starting off fresh with a new zest for being a productive individual who nurtures his little skill until it's much less guiltier when you mention it to someone.

'So what do you like to do?'

'Ahh I love reading.'

'Oh really? Me too.'

'Nice job O virtuous one. What was the last book you read? Or is the comics section of your university newspaper about to be compiled into one?' questions your conscience. Or well, any of those little things for that matter.

'This is the way the world ends

 This is the way the world ends

 This is the way the world ends

 Not with a bang, but with a whimper.'

I remember reading these 4 lines followed by a small subscript of 'T.S.Elliot' in a bathroom stall on an emergent visit. The lines caught me by surprise. It wasn't something that was a deep thought at first, more like the thoughts of one resigned to complete destruction. Where I come from (college), it's an easy task on Friday nights as well.

 Men and women come up with the most brilliant ideas and thoughts about what it means to be intoxicated and what it means to their life's progress and how important it is to have those 10 shots and 10 hours of puke-a-thons and headaches. But I can never disregard the brilliance of those thoughts and ideas.

 Sorrow over a spoilt week, which went off to a bad start because you spent Sunday recovering from the two days before.

Your birthday, which you'd much rather spend in a toilet cubicle with the bowl greeting your face with the most cheerful 'Happy (flush)day!'.

Makes me wonder what does an ending mean? What is a week-end? What exactly ended when you're still stuck in the same cycle of living and deceiving and all the jazz that comes with it. When does an year end when all that's changed in your life is the dates you write on the cheques for your bills. You know what I hear when I think of these things? The hopeless whimpering of every man, woman and spoilt child before the bang of their gun and the blood on their final letters. What really ends? And what doesn't end with a whimper?