The most troublesome aspect of having an imagination is the crash to reality. From a young age, I spent many of my afternoons caught in fevered, fantastical dreams — each of them bearing the unmistakeable theme of escapism. At five years old, I reached up to my mother with small hands to be lifted onto her shoulders. I can still remember distinctly clutching at the fabric of her shirt and glancing down at the world from atop broad shoulders with a budding certainty that someday, I would do it myself. That someday, I would learn the magic required to heft myself to such great heights. At eight years old, I imagined myself fashioning a line of shoes that would give the capability of flying, sweeping around a room with more finesse than the ballet dancers who leapt across my television screen. It wasn't until the age of twelve I decided I needed to write. I was too entranced by the ability to shed skin for skin. I loved the ability to change my dreams at the drop of a dime.

But, to change my dreams so often was also indicative of a greater problem — I always found myself releasing one in favor of another. I came across denial constantly, whether it arrived in the form of gentle, reassuring words or the more physical barring of arms, until the only dreams left were practical ones. Dreams where the only variables called to question were my own dedication and tenacity. I believed so honestly that in order to have a stable life and a solid foundation for my future, I would have to give up my fickle personality. I never wanted to close myself off to opportunities, so the realization that I couldn't have everything in life was a rude awakening.

I was wrong in thinking that though. I was wrong in thinking I had to pick and choose things that make me happy. I can have my sense of adventure while holding down a steady job. I want to create a life where I have the confidence to do what I want, without giving up my responsibilities. I have always been self-sacrificing for others, but I don't want to be self-sacrificing for myself. That just seems counter-productive. I don't ever want to limit myself to a singular dream, but my passions are totally different. I always thought that being a dreamer was a bad thing, but there is nothing wrong with having your head in the clouds, so long as you keep your feet on the groud too.