Idealism in and of itself isn’t harmful. It can push idealists to pursue paths that people grounded in their cynicism aren’t even capable of conceiving. At the same time, however, it remains to be seen that an individual who lives out his idealism has ever truly attained the full potential of it. Thoughts of invisible substance can only be fulfilled by actions of equally limitless bounds, and as human beings who are constrained by various pressures in life, such as societal norms and expectations, there’s simply no way for us to meet those infinitely stretching standards.
And it is that very limit that is so frustrating. It’s the mistake of trying to live out my idealism mixed with the fact that the world’s reality is simply not my own. That idealism has worked out well with the realism of my academic major, providing me with refreshingly strange concepts that seem to please my professors. As for all other aspects of life, I seem to be continually disappointed by what I construct within the realm of this world’s reality. The timeline that I work with is entirely off in comparison with that of this world’s – I seem to be moving in a hazy, slower state that requires close attention to detail in order to see the manifestation of what my own reality is. This unfortunate circumstance causes inordinate amounts of stumbling in my own journey of discovering who I am; what I think I know or am, I am not, and what I don’t think is going on in my life is actually happening before my eyes.
At night, it’s up in the air what could possibly be running through my mind. Maybe all of the convoluted thoughts that are passing through my mind are merely figments of an exhausted, exasperated imagination. But somehow, it’s in these dark hours that the most genuine light shines forth. There’s only one thing that I can really glean from my reflections at this hour, and it’s that I guess in this realist world, there’s just no more space for idealism.