Photo by: Pavel MorozovWhen I was younger I dreamed of being an author. I wrote tons of short stories and even a few 100 pg. books. I also wrote lyrics and dreamed of playing the guitar. During high school I finally convinced my parents to buy me an acoustic for Christmas. I loved that thing.
I took one lesson which went great, then I went for my second one and my teacher (aka my stoner cousin) didn't show up. He also wouldn't call me back to set up another meeting time. He was the only person I knew who played and we didn't have funds to hire an actual teacher so my dreams got put on hold till college.
After everyone got over the initial "why do you have a guitar if you can't play it" question, my apartment became the one to visit. Cute boys liked to show off their skills and serenade my roommates.
I begged them all to teach me but apparently making up great excuses is a common trait amongst guitarists. One nice guy gave me a few lessons and I learned a few songs. Nothing much happened after that. My guitar sits at my parents house with broken stings and covered in dust.
I also don't write stories anymore. Some may be disappointed in learning these things. They may say that I should have followed my dreams and not given up. Still others would advise that I pick them both back up.
I see it a different way. To me dreams and called dreams for a reason. They help push you, they inspire and entertain you. But they aren't always meant to come true. They wouldn't be dreams anyone; and what's life without dreams.