I used to want to write a book. A great teenage fiction novel. I used to want to write (and play my own songs). I used to want to be famous – not Lady Gaga style famous, but a name known in households nonetheless.
I don’t want any of those things anymore. I have no interest in reading books about being in high school, and subsequently, no interest in writing for the genre. I love karaoke and SingStar, but have a decidedly mediocre voice and terrible stage fright; short of donning a Slipknot-style mask, performing would be the death of me. I suppose I wouldn’t object to being a “name”, but seeing my byline on published pieces is enough of a thrill.
I don’t feel like I’m giving up on these dreams; they just don’t compel me anymore. I don’t have an interest in pursuing my hobbies to a high level – it may sound like I’m downgrading my ambitions, and I guess in a way, the things I want are much more simple now. I want to live comfortably, financially speaking. I want to enjoy my work, to throw dinner parties, have board game nights, the occasional night on the town. To play entire songs again on guitar. To travel and see things I’ve only heard or read about. To feel the sun on my back on the beach, and the crisp, chilly air and crunching leaves underfoot. To eat cheese, prosciutto, and other amazing foods without worrying about the price tag. To live in a house with my name on the title and eventually, a couple of little people running around in it.
Do you dream big? Or are your aspirations more geared towards the simple pleasures?