I used to be a very ambitious person.
I used to dream of world peace.
I used to think I would have a great job,
Like a world leader, and then, maybe
A college professor in Humanities.
I used to be the kind of person
That might have believed in the saying,
“So little done. So much to do.”
Well, I never was good in groups,
So I wouldn’t do well in the United Nations.
I can’t read very fast, so
Graduate school was not for me.
Even after my mental illness hit me,
My ego fought long and hard for something
BIG, something to wrap my dreams around.
Finally I settled.
I got a real job, working to pay the bills.
That’s when everyday life hit me square in the face.
That’s when I learned that there are two kinds of people:
Those who make decisions, and those who carry them out.
And I found myself to be the latter.
No glory in being a producer,
No recognition in making a buck.
At least for most of us.
I guess that’s part of growing up.
You realize you’re not as strong
As you thought you were.
You realize that there is always
Someone else who knows more than you.
And, the hardest, you come to see
That there is never enough money.
And dreamers don’t get paid for dreaming.
(Carry on Tuesday #107, prompt:
The last words spoken by Cecil Rhodes
before his death in 1902)