träumen

4 years old: artist

5 years old: doctor

6 years: movie star

7 years: lawyer.  Mom does it, I can too.

8: nah, doctor's better.

8 1/2: Sick people are gross.  Actress.

13: Actress. Glitz. Glamor. Good.

17: Social Worker.  Who can really be content with being content?

18: Actress, social work on the side.

It was just part of my plan.  I was going to be an actress.  I was going to be famous.  And last spring I realized it wasn't going to happen.

Until last spring I was working towards a theatre degree.  Not particularly a university renown for their arts programs, but hey, it's where I'm at.  Disenchantment is heartbreaking.

I had entered as eine begierige Studierende, but my dreams of glamor and fame were becoming ever distant while the realities of the life of an artist and the chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out industry were increasingly daunting.  I was realizing that I had fallen in love with the idea of acting and life at the top rather than the art of theatre.  I was devastated; surrounded by people who had theatre dans leur sang, whose enthusiasm would feed them when their paycheck wouldn’t, I felt like an impostor.  I wanted so badly to be as passionate as my peers, but their love for the art only made my own indifference and shallow dreams more evident. 

When I voiced my discontent I met an unexpected response.  These artists were my friends, my family, but I was the misfit, die Ausgestoßene.  Many couldn't understand why I was unhappy, why I was interested in pursuing something else.  I felt almost like a turncoat, a deserter, sure to face my execution if I ever looked back.

But once I acknowledged this decision was real, that I just couldn't pretend anymore that I actually enjoyed the overdramatic comedies I was just not cut out for, that I was not in the right place for the work I wanted to do, I was left with more than non-understanding peers.  J'étais sans un rêve.

I was passionless.  Food was tasteless.  Music monotonous.  Company grew tiresome and dark.  It was the first time in my life I didn't have a dream.  Un mode de vie.  I was full of ambition but no compass to direct it.  I missed having a target, not necessarily what the target was, but just having it.  Something to give every ounce of my sweat and blood to.  Something bigger than myself.  Wine helped for a while.  Not much, but it helped to fall asleep where I could have real dreams again.

Eventually I realized there might be an explanation for why I had taken 20+ hours over my university's language requirements, that when you do something for no reason doesn't mean there isn't a reason.  

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I still think about acting.  Some part of me still believes that sparkling life will be mine.  



But today I made banana pancakes without baking soda, baking powder or vanilla (I guess since there is a boulangerie around every corner, people in France don't bake).  Incredibly average.  Nutella makes them better.  A sad reminder that not all seemingly good ideas come to fruition, even under good intentions.