Some professions are cooler than others. Admit it. If everyone from your school grew up to be what he or she wanted, we would have too many astronauts and Rock Stars. The economic impact of such utopia would be good subject matter for the next paperback hit. Fortunately, a classic bottle neck filters out the lucky bastards from the also-rans.
Youth is a great thing and most people are optimistic by default. The result is dreams and its waking love child: hope. Regardless of track record, dreams continue to show up, shameless and smug. They are like static, always there but not dwelled upon.
You even try your bit to feel like you have not given up: Guitar classes on weekends and half an hour of daily practice. But after earning your loaf from 9 to 5, you are running virtually on empty.
You are jolted to reality by a hard strummed Am (A minor) hit by your 9 year old batch mate. Very good says the instructor to the kid looking at you with deep despondence. With your fat grown-up fingers stuck ungracefully between the frets, mouth ajar and eyes sleepy, all you can give in return is a blank look. As the kid’s young and nimble fingers continue to thread actual music effortlessly through the acoustic instrument, you are run over by an epiphany:
A dream job is an oxymoron.