Smothering Under the Blanket of Melancholy

One of the consequences of living balls to wall, which I had forgotten until it snuck up on me recently, was the overwhelming crushing sensation when you crash to the ground after soaring so high.

There are such huge gains to dreaming big, to enlisting an overactive imagination to see what could be and where it could go. And there is so far to fall when, for all your efforts and powerful imagery, for some reason the stars don't align and it doesn't materialize. It is heartbreaking. It is a brand of heartbreak that plagues those who take risks, who reach for heights that are laughable and seemingly impossible - the irrational acts of a courageous and silly few.

But simmering in this nostalgic stew of melancholy, I am thankful. Thankful that I would rather see huge amazing potential, and suffer the pains of disappointment, than see a world through narrower and limiting eyes. And sometimes, just sometimes, the heights imagined, the dreams visualized and the fantasies of a madwoman magically are actualized, realized. And those moments, though rare and fleeting, keep the dreams going in this alternate reality of that which is impossible. Most of the time.