I get this all the time. Thanks for telling me why ;)
Even as a child I had dreams of being in politics or a lawyer and my teachers would tell me to think of a different dream because I wasn't good at math./ my dream died. Years later as a teen I wanted to be an actress but everyone said I should be a singer instead because I had a soft voice and looked good on stage..( so my dream slowly died.( Now I have bigger dreams which involve something to do with both writing, politics and even risking your life... I know I'm still on my way and even to this day people tell me that's not a realistic goal/dream you should do this instead./ well I'm tired of listening to what people think I should or shouldn't do.. This time i'm willing to risk failure and I hope I won't fail because I'm passionate about this.) will probably share more later on my blog.
Now I say... Ignore what everyone else wants and do what YOU want instead.
I get this all the time. Thanks for telling me why ;)
Even as a child I had dreams of being in politics or a lawyer and my teachers would tell me to think of a different dream because I wasn't good at math./ my dream died. Years later as a teen I wanted to be an actress but everyone said I should be a singer instead because I had a soft voice and looked good on stage..( so my dream slowly died.( Now I have bigger dreams which involve something to do with both writing, politics and even risking your life... I know I'm still on my way and even to this day people tell me that's not a realistic goal/dream you should do this instead./ well I'm tired of listening to what people think I should or shouldn't do.. This time i'm willing to risk failure and I hope I won't fail because I'm passionate about this.) will probably share more later on my blog.
Now I say... Ignore what everyone else wants and do what YOU want instead.
Hello, Michael. What a chord you have struck in me with this blog! Every word you have said is true; albiet minus the totality of the story of dreams. With your permission--and that will come after I've posted, you've read the post, and decide whether or not I've hijacked your blog illegitimately--I'd like to tell you, as concisely as I can, the story of a man who's dreams died with him through misunderstanding and ignorance. A tragedy--as a way of illustrating how important it is to stick to your dreams. Once upon a time, in the early years of the of the 20th century, there was a young boy who felt himself to be very different from his peers. Everything he and his peers were taught in school was of little importance to his peers. No homework for gradeschool boys [or girls] in those days. Just go to school, leave, and you're on your own. On their off time they went fishing, got into mischief, played ball, and otherwise occupied themselves with non-academic pursuits. Our young boy, the one I'm talking about, however, was already well-advanced in reading and writing simply by genetics. He questioned everything that was taught to him. In the winter months when he wasn't required to be in school, he spent his days in his local library [yes, at the ages of 7, 8, 9, 10...] researching in depth the generalities about history and such that he'd been taught in school. Oweing to the blessing of a steel-trap mind, he retained every fact he read. Often, the facts he'd uncovered in his local library contradicted what he was being taught in school. While he was socially very shy, he was not one bit shy about presenting these facts in any classroom. Because his facts contradicted the curriculum, he was often chastised by his teachers, sent to the principal's office for discipline [corporal, for sure], and--given the years we're talking about; 1912-1915, 1916... he was always told to either shut up and get with the program, or get out.... Eventually, he got out...sort of. Not entirely, though. Not entirely. He often missed more than 2/3 of a school year---but he never missed a test. And every test he took he ACED. He often didn't show up in class for two months at a time. But he showed up for those important tests. At the end of every semester his teachers were forced to give him A's because he'd passed their tests with flying colors. By the time our boy was in high school he'd figured out what was important to him. THE TRUTH. THE TRUTH, as in report your facts accurately, or don't report them at all. Just in case you haven't figured out what he was born to be, let me tell you: A Died In the Wool Journalist. He cared for nothing, including the love of friends and family, so much as he cared for THE TRUTH. By now he also knew what his profession, his destiny, was to be: A NEWSPAPER REPORTER. And you must remember that this was back in the day when newspaper reporters were considered by most of society to be scum drunkards. Our boy didn't care about that. All he wanted was to report the truth about ANYTHING to the world. And, he'd already proved that he was damn good at that. In roughly 1925 he was ready to go to college---which he was gungho to do. His desire was to go go NYU and major in English Lit [which was a passion of his] because back then there were no journalism programs. Most journalists/reporters back then were/had been English majors. But there appeared a huge obstacle in his path. Since our boy was 6 or 7, [born on the 4th of July, by the way] and his younger brother 5 or 6, their mother had determined that the younger boy was "doomed" to be an artist of some kind, or some other "low life" of a man. Her older boy, she knew, "had brains." He should go to college. And so, almost siince the day he was born, she had employed her talents as a seamstress/custom dressmaker/suitmaker toward that goal. Every ounce of money she earned from her cottage industry went into a fund to pay for our boy's college education. But....the hitch. Our boy's mother had married a house painter. A thoroughly non-ambitious house painter whom she had thought she could change. Whom she had thought she could turn into what fitted her definition of a BUSINESSMAN. A contractor who would keep growing his business over the years until he was able to put his brush down and do nothing but supervise his many, many employees. As it turned out, she couldn't do that because hubby had no such ambitions and would not be moved to adopting them. By the time our boy was ready for college, his mother was a bitter woman indeed. Her hubby had not become what she had hoped to make of him. He had never earned more than was necessary to keep his own household going. He was not a GREAT CORPORATE MOGUL as she had wanted him to become. He was still nothing but a house painter who occasionally got a very lucrative contract to paint a state or federal bridge. In her own mind, she had failed awfully. Unable to live with her failure, she made up her mind that her first son, the "boy" we're talking about here who wanted more than anything to be a journalist, would become the great successful businessman that her husband never could become. And so...when it came time for our boy to go to college, he was all set to be and English major. His mother said you have to be a business major or I won't pay for your college. Thinking all these years that his choices were his own, our boy was dumbfounded. He'd been accepted to NYU without a hitch. But--and there were no scholarships available to him in those days--now he had to make his major Business. Thinking that he could somehow override this evil decision, he accepted his mother's offer. He enrolled at NYU with business his major---but chose as most of his courses, English Lit courses. [One of his professors was the fabulous Thomas Wolfe, ["You Can't Go Home Again" .....] Many's the night our boy spent with Thomas Wolfe, a notorious boozer, drinking shots at the still existant White Horse Tavern on Hudson Street in Greenwich Village. Exactly what our boy lerned from Wolfe, I don't know. But whatever he absorbed from Wolfe, I know, never left him. Some months later our boy went out on a blind date. Two fellows together who knew each other well, the other fellow knew the two gals, our boy knew neither of the women. Our boy hated his date; adored the other fellow's date.,the woman who would become my mother. Long story short, after many, many phone calls to this "other woman" who really didn't want to know him, she accepted a date with him, basically, as women often say, "to get rid of him." A few months later they were engaged. Our boy was now 19+ Some months later, when he was done with his sophomore year at NYU, a newspaper in White Plains, New York offered him a fulltime job as an investigative reporter. He had spent the summer working for them, starting as a copy boy and less than 8 weeks later ending up as an investigative hournalist--they were so impressed with his work, they didn't want to let him go. Our boy was so elated. He'd found his calling. He was ready and set to go. BUT... His mother would not hear of it. As far as she was concerned, newspaper reporters/hournalists were all scum alcoholics--which was their reputation at the time. And his fiance was hell-bent on having a husband who would provide her with exactly what she had come from--a home where the man was a successful businessman who could pay for the white picket fence, etc. ........ Although our boy's mother and his fiance HATED each other, did not get along for one second....the two of them conspired to keep our boy in Business School so he could become what they both wanted him to be. They presented a united front: Either you continue with business school at NYU, or, I as you mother will disown you and never ever speak to you again----and I, as your fiance, if you do not continue to pursue a business degree, will break up with you and never speak to you again. Given his choices, given that our boy was not a ladies man, not very good with women indeed--this girlfriend was the first real girlfriend he'd ever had and he wasn't sure he could ever get another....all things...his domineering mother...combined..... He acquiesced. He got his degree in business....top of his class....and he spent the rest of his life in entry level positions because he could not suppress his desire to tell the truth about the facts of any business he worked for. He was a dismal failure in business...a misery to those around him....a misery to himself. He died in 1957 or 1958, I forget now which, from a coronary thrombosis that I'm still convinced was, in truth a broken heart. In case you haven't figured out who our boy is/was.....He was my father. A man of remarkable talents, remarkable, genius, who SOLD OUT FOR LOVE.,..SOLD OUT FOR COMFORT....SOLD OUT FOR TO MAKE HIS MAMA HAPPY.... Well, that is my long, long tale. And this tale is why I am still today, after 40years of failure as a writer of fiction--AM STILL TRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL NOT GIVE UP AS MY FATHER DID. PERIOD. Pat
Hello, Michael. What a chord you have struck in me with this blog! Every word you have said is true; albiet minus the totality of the story of dreams. With your permission--and that will come after I've posted, you've read the post, and decide whether or not I've hijacked your blog illegitimately--I'd like to tell you, as concisely as I can, the story of a man who's dreams died with him through misunderstanding and ignorance. A tragedy--as a way of illustrating how important it is to stick to your dreams. Once upon a time, in the early years of the of the 20th century, there was a young boy who felt himself to be very different from his peers. Everything he and his peers were taught in school was of little importance to his peers. No homework for gradeschool boys [or girls] in those days. Just go to school, leave, and you're on your own. On their off time they went fishing, got into mischief, played ball, and otherwise occupied themselves with non-academic pursuits. Our young boy, the one I'm talking about, however, was already well-advanced in reading and writing simply by genetics. He questioned everything that was taught to him. In the winter months when he wasn't required to be in school, he spent his days in his local library [yes, at the ages of 7, 8, 9, 10...] researching in depth the generalities about history and such that he'd been taught in school. Oweing to the blessing of a steel-trap mind, he retained every fact he read. Often, the facts he'd uncovered in his local library contradicted what he was being taught in school. While he was socially very shy, he was not one bit shy about presenting these facts in any classroom. Because his facts contradicted the curriculum, he was often chastised by his teachers, sent to the principal's office for discipline [corporal, for sure], and--given the years we're talking about; 1912-1915, 1916... he was always told to either shut up and get with the program, or get out.... Eventually, he got out...sort of. Not entirely, though. Not entirely. He often missed more than 2/3 of a school year---but he never missed a test. And every test he took he ACED. He often didn't show up in class for two months at a time. But he showed up for those important tests. At the end of every semester his teachers were forced to give him A's because he'd passed their tests with flying colors. By the time our boy was in high school he'd figured out what was important to him. THE TRUTH. THE TRUTH, as in report your facts accurately, or don't report them at all. Just in case you haven't figured out what he was born to be, let me tell you: A Died In the Wool Journalist. He cared for nothing, including the love of friends and family, so much as he cared for THE TRUTH. By now he also knew what his profession, his destiny, was to be: A NEWSPAPER REPORTER. And you must remember that this was back in the day when newspaper reporters were considered by most of society to be scum drunkards. Our boy didn't care about that. All he wanted was to report the truth about ANYTHING to the world. And, he'd already proved that he was damn good at that. In roughly 1925 he was ready to go to college---which he was gungho to do. His desire was to go go NYU and major in English Lit [which was a passion of his] because back then there were no journalism programs. Most journalists/reporters back then were/had been English majors. But there appeared a huge obstacle in his path. Since our boy was 6 or 7, [born on the 4th of July, by the way] and his younger brother 5 or 6, their mother had determined that the younger boy was "doomed" to be an artist of some kind, or some other "low life" of a man. Her older boy, she knew, "had brains." He should go to college. And so, almost siince the day he was born, she had employed her talents as a seamstress/custom dressmaker/suitmaker toward that goal. Every ounce of money she earned from her cottage industry went into a fund to pay for our boy's college education. But....the hitch. Our boy's mother had married a house painter. A thoroughly non-ambitious house painter whom she had thought she could change. Whom she had thought she could turn into what fitted her definition of a BUSINESSMAN. A contractor who would keep growing his business over the years until he was able to put his brush down and do nothing but supervise his many, many employees. As it turned out, she couldn't do that because hubby had no such ambitions and would not be moved to adopting them. By the time our boy was ready for college, his mother was a bitter woman indeed. Her hubby had not become what she had hoped to make of him. He had never earned more than was necessary to keep his own household going. He was not a GREAT CORPORATE MOGUL as she had wanted him to become. He was still nothing but a house painter who occasionally got a very lucrative contract to paint a state or federal bridge. In her own mind, she had failed awfully. Unable to live with her failure, she made up her mind that her first son, the "boy" we're talking about here who wanted more than anything to be a journalist, would become the great successful businessman that her husband never could become. And so...when it came time for our boy to go to college, he was all set to be and English major. His mother said you have to be a business major or I won't pay for your college. Thinking all these years that his choices were his own, our boy was dumbfounded. He'd been accepted to NYU without a hitch. But--and there were no scholarships available to him in those days--now he had to make his major Business. Thinking that he could somehow override this evil decision, he accepted his mother's offer. He enrolled at NYU with business his major---but chose as most of his courses, English Lit courses. [One of his professors was the fabulous Thomas Wolfe, ["You Can't Go Home Again" .....] Many's the night our boy spent with Thomas Wolfe, a notorious boozer, drinking shots at the still existant White Horse Tavern on Hudson Street in Greenwich Village. Exactly what our boy lerned from Wolfe, I don't know. But whatever he absorbed from Wolfe, I know, never left him. Some months later our boy went out on a blind date. Two fellows together who knew each other well, the other fellow knew the two gals, our boy knew neither of the women. Our boy hated his date; adored the other fellow's date.,the woman who would become my mother. Long story short, after many, many phone calls to this "other woman" who really didn't want to know him, she accepted a date with him, basically, as women often say, "to get rid of him." A few months later they were engaged. Our boy was now 19+ Some months later, when he was done with his sophomore year at NYU, a newspaper in White Plains, New York offered him a fulltime job as an investigative reporter. He had spent the summer working for them, starting as a copy boy and less than 8 weeks later ending up as an investigative hournalist--they were so impressed with his work, they didn't want to let him go. Our boy was so elated. He'd found his calling. He was ready and set to go. BUT... His mother would not hear of it. As far as she was concerned, newspaper reporters/hournalists were all scum alcoholics--which was their reputation at the time. And his fiance was hell-bent on having a husband who would provide her with exactly what she had come from--a home where the man was a successful businessman who could pay for the white picket fence, etc. ........ Although our boy's mother and his fiance HATED each other, did not get along for one second....the two of them conspired to keep our boy in Business School so he could become what they both wanted him to be. They presented a united front: Either you continue with business school at NYU, or, I as you mother will disown you and never ever speak to you again----and I, as your fiance, if you do not continue to pursue a business degree, will break up with you and never speak to you again. Given his choices, given that our boy was not a ladies man, not very good with women indeed--this girlfriend was the first real girlfriend he'd ever had and he wasn't sure he could ever get another....all things...his domineering mother...combined..... He acquiesced. He got his degree in business....top of his class....and he spent the rest of his life in entry level positions because he could not suppress his desire to tell the truth about the facts of any business he worked for. He was a dismal failure in business...a misery to those around him....a misery to himself. He died in 1957 or 1958, I forget now which, from a coronary thrombosis that I'm still convinced was, in truth a broken heart. In case you haven't figured out who our boy is/was.....He was my father. A man of remarkable talents, remarkable, genius, who SOLD OUT FOR LOVE.,..SOLD OUT FOR COMFORT....SOLD OUT FOR TO MAKE HIS MAMA HAPPY.... Well, that is my long, long tale. And this tale is why I am still today, after 40years of failure as a writer of fiction--AM STILL TRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL NOT GIVE UP AS MY FATHER DID. PERIOD. Pat
YEP PEOPLE ARE NOT OPEN TO THIER OWN INNER DREAM SELF I GUESS I TOO WILD TOO TO SIT BACK LISTEN IT A CRAZY WORLD BOX )(()() () get my point________NO FREEDOM WHY THIS WORLD GOT TV COMPUTERS N CRAZY WAY OF LIVING IT NOT OPEN TO EARTH SELF DISCOVERY IT TIME TO EXPLORE WE THE PEOPLE MUST BE MORE WILLING TO GROW AND TEACH CLASS OUTSIDE DO WOODSTOCK STUFF MUSIC WORLD PEACE EVEANT ART <>N <>MUSIC DRAW PEOPLE NATURE NEED TO UNDERSTAND OUR INNER CHILD QUALITY
HUMAN HAVE NOT GROWN ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND ME I GET IN TROUBLE LOL TALKING N LAUGHING SOMEDAY THEY GROW SEE MY POINT YA GOOD !<><><> lol o Well
YEP PEOPLE ARE NOT OPEN TO THIER OWN INNER DREAM SELF I GUESS I TOO WILD TOO TO SIT BACK LISTEN IT A CRAZY WORLD BOX )(()() () get my point________NO FREEDOM WHY THIS WORLD GOT TV COMPUTERS N CRAZY WAY OF LIVING IT NOT OPEN TO EARTH SELF DISCOVERY IT TIME TO EXPLORE WE THE PEOPLE MUST BE MORE WILLING TO GROW AND TEACH CLASS OUTSIDE DO WOODSTOCK STUFF MUSIC WORLD PEACE EVEANT ART <>N <>MUSIC DRAW PEOPLE NATURE NEED TO UNDERSTAND OUR INNER CHILD QUALITY
HUMAN HAVE NOT GROWN ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND ME I GET IN TROUBLE LOL TALKING N LAUGHING SOMEDAY THEY GROW SEE MY POINT YA GOOD !<><><> lol o Well
Hi Michael, IVE BEEM MISSING YOUR MAIL GLAD YOU BACK. i ENJOY WHAT YOU WRITE AND YOU ALWAYS WRITE WHAT MAKES SENSE TO ME. SINCE MM IS A TOTAL MISS IVE MET MORE MEN ON OTHER DATING CLUBS THEN THIS ONE. NOT SURE WHY SO MANY ARE THERE AND WHEN YOU LOOK AT LAST LOGIN ITS LIKE ONE MONTH AGO!! SO BACK TO DREAMS --- ITS SAD BUT SO TRUE YOUR DREAMS ARE NOT MY DREAMS AND VICE VERSA STILL ITS NICE IF SOMEONE CAN PAT YOU ON THE BACK AND SAY WOW THATS A GREAT DREAM. MANY MANY THOUSANDS OF HUMAN BEINGS GO TO THE GRAVE WITH THEIR DREAMS BURIED IN THEIR POCKETS OH WELL MAYBE NEXT TIME WHEN THEY RE-INCARNATE THEY MIGHT DO IT BETTER. ENJOY AND GOD BLESS. LOVE JAMIELA
Hi Michael, IVE BEEM MISSING YOUR MAIL GLAD YOU BACK. i ENJOY WHAT YOU WRITE AND YOU ALWAYS WRITE WHAT MAKES SENSE TO ME. SINCE MM IS A TOTAL MISS IVE MET MORE MEN ON OTHER DATING CLUBS THEN THIS ONE. NOT SURE WHY SO MANY ARE THERE AND WHEN YOU LOOK AT LAST LOGIN ITS LIKE ONE MONTH AGO!! SO BACK TO DREAMS --- ITS SAD BUT SO TRUE YOUR DREAMS ARE NOT MY DREAMS AND VICE VERSA STILL ITS NICE IF SOMEONE CAN PAT YOU ON THE BACK AND SAY WOW THATS A GREAT DREAM. MANY MANY THOUSANDS OF HUMAN BEINGS GO TO THE GRAVE WITH THEIR DREAMS BURIED IN THEIR POCKETS OH WELL MAYBE NEXT TIME WHEN THEY RE-INCARNATE THEY MIGHT DO IT BETTER. ENJOY AND GOD BLESS. LOVE JAMIELA
*applauds you* Thank you for this post! I have had that happen to me countless times! With all my inventions, even one for perpetual motion, my uncle or someone would shoot them down. Everything I tried to do, it got shot down..whether by my family or the FBI (that one because I am hearing impaired and they cannot accept me.) go figure. Anyways, I still struggle to somehow not let my dreams go, but so many have. Now I just write stories and poems and live dreams in that way. Sure, it is not all my dreams, but at least it is one of them. If only I could figure out how to go about getting them published then that will be alright hehe Your post really makes sense though. I wish people would be supportive of ideas and passions, even if it is not their passion. A little support or "I believe in you" can go a long way.
*applauds you* Thank you for this post! I have had that happen to me countless times! With all my inventions, even one for perpetual motion, my uncle or someone would shoot them down. Everything I tried to do, it got shot down..whether by my family or the FBI (that one because I am hearing impaired and they cannot accept me.) go figure. Anyways, I still struggle to somehow not let my dreams go, but so many have. Now I just write stories and poems and live dreams in that way. Sure, it is not all my dreams, but at least it is one of them. If only I could figure out how to go about getting them published then that will be alright hehe Your post really makes sense though. I wish people would be supportive of ideas and passions, even if it is not their passion. A little support or "I believe in you" can go a long way.
"There is no darker place than the depths of your very own soul. Drink deeply from within, awaken, and be free."
