Finding a balance between idealism and realism is one of the hardest things I've yet to wrap my head around. When does hope cross over to naïveté? Being drawn to what can be sometimes works like a vicious cycle of crushing disappointment after exponentially elevated expectations and it gets tiring right after. What I suppose would be the wonderful salve to said bitter crushing disappointment (perhaps not that extreme) is the trace left behind, or lack thereof. They vanish all too soon, just like my anger. On the flip side, when what can be is realised, it makes everything worth it. The last time I was realistic was when I predicted my A level grades (they were spot on). But seeing what is is boring. I'm not talking about appreciating the present or being content with what we have. Rather I'm referring to basing an outcome on present factors without considering the possibility of divine intervention or even a touch of chaos.
Why walk when you can fly?
(Early morning ramblings done on a headache high)
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