Once upon a time I had a dream. I was going to be a Hollywood director. I would spend my free time sketching out teasers to the next James Bond feature or waste hours of time crafting titles and concepts for upcoming releases or muster ridiculous ideas for sequels to ones I knew. I began to put my imprint on video projects at school and began to go public with my dream of life in the Hollywood director's chair.
This dream never came true.
No matter which way I slice it, the dream I chased for twenty plus years changed far too many times to be achieved, so why don't I just say it. It never happened.
A love for artistically inclined independent films took hold. A full-on growth of myself as a struggling writer gained momentum. A major conflict between art and commerce probed my philosophical inner Jekyll or Hyde. A bevy of projects that saw more darkness than light drowned the idealistic perfectionist within. And a discovery of the theatre as an immediate way to create and share art with an audience ensured all bets were off.
Things have changed too much. I am too jaded by life and myriad experience for this specific childhood dream to ever come true. The loose ends of this story represent somebody else entirely and are not really a part of the same tale. Don't get me wrong. I still come alive when the creative juices are flowing but this dream died within me many years ago. Underneath everything else lurks a figurative garage full of wishful thinking and naive imaginings.
When there's one foot in the distant past, one foot in the perhaps foreseeable future, the main results are lumbar issues and a difficulty walking.
So, what are today's dreams? That's what really matters.
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