A dream

With age we're told more and more how we need to erase high dreams from our radars, or at least compromise what we're dreaming of. They begin with encouragement and end with discouragement. Dreams are one of the few things that are really out of your hands, dependent on yourself and others. 

They're something that idealists have in abundance, and 'realists' have in scarcity.

But at either spectrum and every point in between they're something that everyone can connect upon having, as much as one may deny or simplify. 

I saw Man On Wire tonight with my girlfriend at Park Lane, and it was incredibly inspiring. Inspiring in a way that isn't specific to any sort of interest, but in just a 'get up and do it' way.

The movie tells the story of Philippe Petit, probably the most famous tightrope walker. At the age of 17 he opened a magazine and stumbled upon the concept art of the World Trade Center. The buildings hadn't been built yet, but his vision was set; his dream was born. He needed to walk between these two buildings.

Why this would enter someone's mind immediately and so positively is  a bit puzzling, but the fact that it did with such prominence is something to bat an eye at. Dreams fill up in kids' minds and they're hard to shake off for some; ideas of rock stardom and film directing still latch onto my calves like kids pretending to be koalas. I'm proud of that analogy. What's hardest about dreams like these is that they're so intangible until you actually obtain them, and the only way to obtain them is through believing that they're tangible. 

I'm 18 now, a year older than Philippe when his dream hit him, and it still hasn't hit me. I'm waiting and waiting, filling my brain up with more and more glittering dreams, but I'm still not fully inspired. I'm becoming more open to the 'realistic' dreams floating around, but still can't find a fitting one to grab onto.

'til then I'll be waiting for the day to open that magazine and find my World Trade Center.

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