Wasted Time

Do you ever wonder how much time you spend waiting for traffic lights? Do you ever wonder at what point you'll realize that you've wasted so much time in life?

My father just turned 60. He can recall a time before computers, before flashes were attached to cameras, before Watergate induced yellow journalism. He feels old. Though, I don't know that he feels that he ever wasted time.

I turn 27 in 27 1/2 days.... October 5th. I'm freaking out. I always freak out around my birthday. I get depressed. I get pensive. I get drunk. It's been happening since I was 18.

APK asked me why I get depressed. I get depressed that I'm too old to dream anymore.

I asked him if he had any dreams anymore. He said, "I want to make enough money to give my children what I was given." That's a wonderful sentiment, however it is not a dream. That is a goal. I want to eventually become an Associate Publisher of Marketing at a magazine. If I work hard enough and develop a big enough portfolio, it will most likely happen.

A dream is, sorry for the cliche, a wish your heart makes. When I was little and I'd watch Mr. Ed with my father on Nick at Nite, I dreamt of riding horses and becoming an Architect. I didn't know that I wasn't great at math. I'd never ridden a horse before. Then, I went to ride horses. I rode dressage for many years. But, at 14, I fell off the horse and destroyed my arm. I got back on the horse, because my mother made me, and just didn't have the passion I once had for riding horses. It was the end of my dream. I don't ride anymore.

I've had many dreams in my life. I wanted to be an actress, so I got a part in local theater. I acted throughout high school. Then I realized what a hard path trying to be an actress would be, so I gave that up to. I wanted to be a fashion designer, so I went to RISD for a summer program and realized I wanted to shop and look pretty in other people's clothing instead. I wanted to be a ballet dancer until I was told I was too small and didn't have the strength for toe. I wanted to be an art buyer until I interned for an Art Publishing company. I wanted to work at "the" magazine publishers in New York, and then I got that too, and realized I didn't much like New York.

And so somewhere along the way, I've stopped dreaming. I've stopped watching TV and letting my mind wander to what might be. I've stopped playing Sim City building Samville and Samland. I've stopped dreaming.

So when I get depressed on my birthday, it's the loss of dreams. The loss of innocence. The further and further my life takes me from my dreams, the more I feel like I've wasted time. The more I think about the fact that I've wasted 45 seconds waiting to cross the street.

Anyways, so that's why I'll be a little sad the next coming month.