It’s hard for me to remain practical. Take goal-setting as an example. What starts out as a realistic goal turns into starry-eyed dreaming in a matter of minutes. My mind becomes fixated on all the positive, wonderful, semi-imaginary aspects of what could be, rather than the nitty-gritty of what actually is.
For me, going for a 10-minute run means I’m just a few steps (literally, right?) from a marathon. Listening to dreamy love songs makes my heart radiate the sunlight of expectation, completely unaware of the fact that I’m sixteen and slightly socially uncomfortable. When I stare out the window and listen to music, I’m thinking about myself ten years in the future. Am I taking hard GPA’s, standardized tests, and job interviews into account? Not really. Hearing about someone’s personal journey to become a vegan, it makes me want to try it, too. And don’t even get me started on club interest meetings.
All this idealism makes it especially difficult to deal with disappointment. When you’ve gotten your hopes so high, when you’ve turned rosy possibilities around and around in your mind for hours, it hurts when you’re shaken awake from that dream. Reality in one’s own mind is blurry and airy, but it isn’t. It’s gritty like sand and sharp like a rust-frosted nail.
One’s logical explanation would be to stop spending so much time thinking about how wonderful things might be, but I don’t want to. Most of the time, things are so much more interesting inside the mind, so much more exciting before they actually happen. I derive a great deal of happiness and energy from thinking about blooming hypotheticals. Why would I ever give that up? When I stumble upon an especially juicy daydream – and yes, daydreams can be delicious – I never want to. It almost makes all that reality-induced disappointment worth it.