The Road to La Mancha

It has occurred to me just recently that I don’t really…. dream, anymore.

Once upon a time, I had images in my head that I might be a writer. A musician. That energy of youth when the world lies at your feet and anything is possible. For most people, that broad possibility-scape narrows down as they get older and make decisions: each life decision opens doors but closes endless others, until the general path of your life is decided. But in my case, the doors closed, but none new were opened. I simply stagnated.

Just a few minutes ago I watched a YouTube video of a performance from Man of La Mancha — the song “Dream the Impossible Dream” — and I was struck to the core. Not by the schmaltzy sentimentality of the song (though a good song, and an excellent performance), but by the fact that I can’t remember the last time I so much as daydreamed about any of the things that I once *knew* I wanted to do.

Referencing another bit of musical theater, there’s a bit in “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown” wherein the titular character ponders if anyone would miss him if he just never got out of bed one day. Sometimes I feel like that. Have I made any mark on the world? At all?

The answer is yes. There are children in my life — my nephews. One of them in particular I am close to. He was born about ten years ago — right around the time I came closest to suicide, and so he has in a way become a symbol to me of my own survival. If I had done it then, I never would have known this amazing young person who in so many ways reminds me of myself.

The fact that he reminds me of me makes me shudder. I’m not sure why. It’s wonderful in a way, but terrifying for some reason I can’t identify. Do I imagine he will somehow go through what I have? I hope not, and I don’t think so.

If I ever do kill myself, he will be the one to suffer more than anyone, I think. And at times I fear that he will indeed suffer that particular pain. My heart aches.

I’ve gone a bit off course here. I started talking about dreams, and I’ve gotten on to nightmares. What place do my dreams of youth have for me now?

The answer is simply this: If I am to ever have a life worth living I have to remember those dreams, and pursue them, I have to dust them off and reform the old forgotten habit if dreaming. The lost art of hoping for the future. I’m not really sure if I’m capable of it any more, but if I can’t bring myself to even try to hope, then it truly is time for me to take the final step.

Try or Die. Strive, or… end.

To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star

Update: The video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVlAtMZAzeY

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One Response to The Road to La Mancha

  1. She The Anomaly says:

    “The answer is simply this: If I am to ever have a life worth living I have to remember those dreams, and pursue them, I have to dust them off and reform the old forgotten habit if dreaming.”

    :)

    There is no known way to prove that anything is impossible. ;)

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