You want to be a writer, yet you write once in a while. You dream to ride from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, yet the only riding you do is from your home to office, and back. You long to draw a monalisa one day, but the only drawing you do is a few scribbled on the backpage of your notebook. You hope to fall in love like they fall in movies, yet the first thing you do is to check their background and status. You imagine living your dream some day, but today what you do is check out Facebook, and share posts of the people who’ve achieved their dreams. You know in your heart what your true purpose is – but have forgotten words to express it.
There is an insanity in following your passion. A stubbornness that gives a shit about circumstances. That has a devil may care attitude about what you have or not. Your situation does not matter. The correlation of your dreams to your means is zero. What matters is that you want your passion so badly, so desperately that you are ready to take a plunge in the deepest of waters, among the darkest of corners, no matter what.
You don’t need a friend or a mentor for this. You don’t need a platform or coaching to prepare you for this. You don’t need to wait for a perfect time or a perfect opportunity that will come someday – one day. They are nothing but distractions, illusions to keep you from trying today.
Once you have your eyes on what you need everything follows.
I read somewhere, twenty-second of madness is what that matters. Twenty seconds of blindness in presence of that fire that burns in your core. Twenty seconds of following your instinct, your guts. Twenty seconds of forgetting this world around you which has never done anything but brought you down, held you back, discouraged you a bit, told you to be practical.
Being practical is a very dangerous concept. It is a place filled with quagmire. Being practical is a place from where you see your dreams floating away. Being practical is that consolation prize for being ‘just good enough but not being good enough.’ It is a slap for not being the top finisher, for telling you that you had it in you but you couldn’t make it, that you didn’t try hard enough.
It is not a prize. It is an abuse.
According to quantum physics, every point in time sprouts forth in all the possible realities. This means that for any current reality there exist multiple alternate realities which satisfy all the possible potential states of that moment.
Imagine an alternate reality of you where you picked up that pen and wrote that damn novel down. Imagine that you picked up that bike and revved it up towards the journey you always wanted to take. Imagine that you took that white canvas and drew your heart out, creating life in it. Imagine that you went towards the girl whom you really really loved, and confessed, without thinking about her status.
Imagine.. you conquering yourself, your doubts, your inhibitions and living the life that you always wanted to live, living your passion, fulfilling your dream.