There is a danger in being a dreamer. Add in the characteristic of being unambitious and dreaming can become downright tragic. There is a cruelty to desiring something which, through either inaction or something out of your control, can never be yours. It’s a cycle which has replayed itself countless times over many lifespans. Now you’re thinking, “Well that’s sad and pathetic, but wherefore the tragedy?”
Dreaming is cocaine. It is heroin. It is every addictive natural and synthetic compound known and unknown all rolled into one. And what’s more, it is bound only by the limits of your imagination and breadth of experience. It is a trap set by your own mind. It’s Chinese handcuffs that you are either unwilling or unable to escape.
The other tragedy is that you fail to appreciate when you have something good. You keep dreaming forward as if the grass would be greener. It isn’t. It’s usually just peachy right where you are and you haven’t the mental traction to understand that. Anticipate your failures accordingly.
So the question presents itself… why dream? It’s the thrill of wanting or being wanted. The knowledge of certain failure is no obstacle to the overarching need to experience desire, even unrequited desire. Is it a form of self-denial? Or maybe a sacrifice of the real for the unreal? Whatever it is, the pain is intense while in its grasp, but fades quickly upon release. It is a lesson never learned. And I cannot for the life of me figure out why I can’t exit the ride.