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igiveup.tumblr.com
igiveup.tumblr.com
igiveup.tumblr.com
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My desires, when it came to ideal professions, growing up were always fantastical. I assume that when I was young I had mostly typical, grandiose, and romantic ideas that I wouldn't really call "dreams" because I was too young to be aware of that concept. Every young heart is naive and fortunate enough that bloated and cute ambitions are incredibly pure because the gauntlet of reality hasn't set it's jaws in yet. I think in middle school I wanted to be a basketball player (I was too naive to realize the reality of my physical design made that ideal quixotic at best, downright ridiculous at worse. I was short and slow), I also had these ideas to be an architect, which was strange. My abilities in math were average, my ability to conceptualize and be creative weren't overwhelming. Ironically, considering my life now, that is still something I have a hard time with. I resented guidance councilors systematic exercises that were designed to set you on a path which followed your unique personality characteristics and drive all by asking generic, vague questions. By the time I was in college I was presented with a myriad of career paths, ALL of which sparked no desire in me. It's not that I didn't like college, nor was it a case of me being especially lazy, it just came down to the fact that I felt no urge strong enough that led me to pursue anything with passion. Thank God I took part in music, other wise, any profession I would've pursued would've have resulted in me "settling", and maybe I wouldn't have been aware of it at the time. Looking back now, I still have a hard time recognizing anything that really interests me, although there is one thing...how great would it be to be a writer! I spout my own opinions as if they are worth listening to all the time, so isn't writing that same desire manifested in a more dignified approach, which because of the great history of amazing writers, even pop culture writers can exist in this echelon of elevated intellectuals. Although, I shouldn't be blinded by history, there are so many amazing books in antiquity that were satires of their times and immediate surroundings that ended up being timeless. Of course, I am very reluctant to seriously approach the idea because I am cut off at the knees by Dostoevsky, Kundera, and Rand. Is it fear or respect that prohibits me? Or maybe they are excuses all around. Of course, the same question can be asked in relation to music and it's awe inspiring history. There is nothing new under the sun, only new generations. Perhaps the originality doesn't exist in the piece of art itself, but the one who experiences the art.