It makes me sad to see so many cynical people in the world. I always thought I was a downer, a pessimist of the worst sort. After all, I don’t believe in myself, I don’t expect to win the lottery any day, and I face reality head on, instead of living in denial. But, then I went to college. Compared to some people that I’ve run into, I guess I should consider myself the worst sort of dreamer in the world: an idealist. After all, no matter how jaded I’ve become, I still want things. I want a lot of things.
I want to own every great rock album ever produced. I want to read a million books before I die. I want to affect someone’s life. I want to love, whole-heartedly and without reservation. I want to see my kids succeed. And, I want to write the great American novel.
How many of these dreams will come true? I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean I should give up, and not want anything, right? Should I give up on impossible dreams, simply because it may hurt to fail? Should I give up writing all together because my book may never compare to The Great Gatsby or Huckleberry Finn?
I think not. I hate to resort to cliches, but whoever said “youth is wasted on the young” was right. When I hear half of a college class has no dreams and/or goals that make them burn with a passion to succeed, it fills me with a sorrow I can’t describe. These kids don’t know what they are missing! Isn’t it better to burn for something, to pine for something, than to want nothing at all? Isn’t is better to feel the pain of having failed, than to feel numb for not having tried?
Find your dream. Find that thing that makes you burn. Follow it with all of your heart. I guarantee you’ll never be the worst for it. Call me an idiot. Call me an idealist. Ten years ago, I might have been offended. Now, I’ll wear the label with pride.