Conference quark::human_relations-v1

    My dream is almost complete,
    
    My dream was to become a Rock Star,at age 11 I told my parents
    I want a drum Set, My folks laughed, My grandmother said Why?
    my smart reply "Why not"..Then she thought "Oh little Jimmy in
    the school band,Drum/Bugel etc. well she bought me a old Ludwig
    kit, 5 pieces, in JR, High I was in the school band Tapping on a
    snare I met my friend Rick in 7th grade his dream was just as mine
    become a performer,He played guitar at the time.We formed a little
    group at age 12,needless to say the School band was "history" no
    way was I gonna only play a snare. To this day my band w/Rick is
    going pretty strong,Dec. we are going in the studio to record our
    3rd Demo.."whole new Band" Ive played in front of many crowds,We
    have gotton many Applauses,,,DREAMS_DO_BECOME_REALITY,,Im just
    waiting for Madison Square Garden..
                                        Jim
    

Steve, Interesting Question :)

Your note made me reach back 20 years -- yes, I understand
'sock-hop'  :)  -- and remember some dreams.

In '53 or '54 The Saturday Evening Post published a sci-fi 
story ... all the grass on Earth turned purple and died.
The beautiful print and the wild, romantic illustration
made me -- insignificant way-too-humble-me -- say "I would
like to be a writer."  A thought so hot I could barely touch
it. 

  Fifteen years later I sold my first piece ... seeing the
check in the envelope was electrocution by pleasure.
Now I expect the check.  Default. No longer a dream. But 
being able to feel this way -- of course I can -- is
a wonderful, solid feeling. 

 A number of dreams and impossibilites have come true. 
Looking back, my life has been wonderfuly enriched by every
dream-come-true that meant overcoming grotesque insecurities 
and fears. 

 Now. Sigh. I peer around inside and don't find many dreams 
bumping around.  Bunches of wants and druthers and likes, 
but no overwhelming passions.  Don't know why. I find some 
druthers that could be passions, but they're not. Feels to 
me like I am not willing to commit myself to anything that 
falls in the dream category.  Have felt like this for 
a few years.  

 Would like to hear the thoughts of anyone who went through 
this cycle and got back to making and grabbing dreams.

 Also, Steve, would like to hear what it was about the rock 
band experience that made you discover:
>  "Be careful what you wish for. . .it may come true".  Meigs

Could it be that as we grow older and wiser that we learn too full well what
things lie in the realms of dreams outside the province of reality?  That
dreams cost... in reality, and in terms of other dreams...

Now we are too firmly rooted in reality...  We know too much what lies between
our reality, and our dreams.  The only decision we can make is in the here
and now, whether to have milk in our coffee or not, rather then taking those
steps toward a dream.

'There's just one thing that we should have told you before you started, Milo..'

'What was that?'

'Rescueing the Princesses of Rhyme and Reason was impossible.'

'WHAT!  Why didn't you tell me before?!'

'If we'd told you, you never would have attempted it now then, would you have?'

[The Phantom Tollbooth]

Then there are the 'noise filters' in our minds that seperate reality from
fantasy...  Living too long in reality can clog your noise filters, giving you
too keen a sense of what is reality and what is dreams.  Every once in a
while we need to do something to shake up and loosen our noise filters...

The Solution...



Read Children's Books! :-)

Jim.

    
    	Do you mean in real life? I've never thought that any dreams
    	ever came true, except in fairy tales. Now, on the other hand,
    	nightmares always seem to come true. :^)
    
    

    
    Yeah!  I was one of those kids up on stage once.  But I sat behind
    a set of Gretch drums and later was able to afford Zilgen cymbals.
    It started out singing 5 part harmony in the alley ways to get the
    echo to help mix the voices better.  Then we added music and it
    was there.  I was a drummer is a real rock band.
    
    Remember "THe Brooklyn Bridge"  Johnny Maesto who shortened his
    name from Maestrogiovanni went all the way with it.  But my dream
    got cut short.
    
    VIET NAM
    
    But it was great while it lasted.  Now I play the percussion in
    my head and just tap on these keys.  The dream is still a dream.
    And now.. when I see and hear some real tight music I just put myself
    on stage and it feels just fine cuz.. I've been there.  I get the
    rush that I not sure other people know what I mean unless you've
    been there.
    
    No regrets. 
    
    Bill

         Dreams...what a thought....
         
         I have a thought about dreams....a bitter sweet one.
         
         There are very few people around who can stand to
         let someone they love have real *dreams*...I think.
         *Real* dreams occupy your mind and your soul and
         drain the energy from you until you get just a *little*
         closer and then start in again with a new horizen.
         
         There is precious little time left for husbands or
         kids or PTA's or laundry...just time for pounding
         away at whatever it is you *want*....for me it
         was singing....being in front of the backup band
         and making people laugh and cry....heavy stuff.
         
         After 16 years of giving my dream up....I still
         sometimes wonder if I might have....?
         
         Then I go cuddle up to my small person who has
         eternity looking out of his eyes and it hurts a bit
         less....but it still hurts..especially when you hear
         somebody like Steve play his guitar...yeah...it hurts
         still....
         
         Melinda
         

    You might feel my attitude is from youthful optimism but, I believe
    that any *dream* is possible as long as you strive for that dream.
    For example,  I wrote in the dream note that I wanted to do a laser
    light show for Pink Floyd....I now have a double major in Optics
    and Studio Art and have started a project with my school to put
    on my first laser light show.  It may not be Pink Floyd but I'm
    not going to give up until I'm completely satisfied.  If my dreams
    change before I reach them, I'll just persue them with the same
    outlook.....
    
    Bill
    

        I have to agree with .7 that anything is possible.  You
        might have to make a lot of sacrifices, but if the desire
        is strong enough, your dreams certainly can become a
        reality.  
        
        Seems that a lot of people get into a rut once they get a
        little older and established in some particular
        lifestyle.  I often hear people say that they would like
        to be doing something else with their lives, but they
        just can't manage to change.  They can always come up
        with an excuse why they can't achieve their dream.
        
        If you want to follow a dream, that means change, and
        change is uncomfortable for most people.  It's easier to
        just continue to do what you are in the habit of doing,
        rather than make the effort to try something else.  
        
        If you really want to do something, go for it.  Find a
        way to accomplish that goal.  Develop a plan and make it
        work!  You will probably need to sacrifice time and
        income to achieve the dream, therefore you must decide
        what's really important in your life.  Better to try and
        fail than regret never having tried at all!
        
        -Wil

       I've had few "dreams" come true. They are never quite what you
       expect. I do believe people should go for the dream just to know
       whether they really would have been happier. The hard part is
       realising what you might have to give up to get that dream. I
       believe there is a saying that tells it all - "be careful what
       you ask for, you may get it". liesl
       

    I've been married to the most marvelous woman in the world for 27
    years.
    
    25 of those years have been fantastic. 2 of them haven't been
    so great - and it wasn't the same 2 years.
                                            
    Bruce

    Well, to answer Meigs (.2) and pick up where I left off in .0,
    there I was, all of 13 years old, dumbstruck in the middle
    of my first true revelation.  Now, since I was at "that" age
    there *were* a few other things rattling around in the back
    of my brain.  I mean, let's face it, I hadn't gone down to
    the sock hop to hear Bobby Millen and Joel Covington play
    their Fender Musicmaster guitars. . .I'd gone down because
    my dreams before that magic moment had been of Bonnie Buzzard
    and Anne Sawyer.  
    
    So, it was only natural that approximately a half a second after I'd 
    realized what my dream was, I made the "logical" connection that 
    realizing that dream was my best possibility for getting girls.
    And, believe me, having virtually no other possibilities, this was
    indeed potent stuff.  And thus, I wandered home that day with my 
    13-year-old head full of dreams.  The "discussion" at supper that
    evening should have been my first clue that dreams ain't always
    what they're made out to be.
    
    Son:  I wanna play the guitar.  Can I have one?  An electric?
    
    Dad:  No way!
    
    Son:  But I. . .
    
    Dad:  No!!!  You've got a basement full of electric trains that
    	  you haven't touched for months.  We're not going out and 
    	  buying a bunch of expensive guitars so you can just let them
    	  sit around and gather dust.
    
    Son:  But. . .
    
    Dad:  No "buts" about it, buster; that's it!  End of report!
    
    
    Next to my earlier unrequited love for Miss Carter, my first grade
    teacher, this was the crusher of all bummers of my young life. 
    It's no doubt a testament to the strength of my dream (and my ability
    to whine) that, in this instance, Dad proved wrong.  But, he was
    at least learning: the next Christmas morning, instead of a shiny
    new Fender Musicmaster electric guitar, I found a beat up old acoustic
    Kay guitar with only five strings (which were put on around 1948);
    it nonetheless took only a few seconds to fall in love with it.
    
    I quickly found six new strings and my friend Nicky Wheeler: the
    latter gave me my first keys to the universe (how to play the G, Em,
    C and D chords) and the former gave me another clue that things
    were not all gonna work out as easily as the dream had made it 
    seem. . .pushing those strings down put these little grooves in my
    fingers and made them hurt like hell!  To make matters worse, 
    instead of hearing great sounds like the ones coming from Nicky's
    guitar, mine was making sounds that were a cross between stepping
    on a tin can and scratching a screen door with a fork.
    
    Now at 13 I may not have known much, but I was sure that the dream
    wasn't supposed to go like this.  Still, I was a persistent little
    bast, uh, boy, and by the time I turned 14, I had callouses on
    my fingers and could actually play some things.  Better than
    that, I knew that I'd get my Musicmaster because Dad obviously
    put a high premium on "sticking to it", even if "it" was not
    on the approved list.  Besides, I was sneaky too and I played what
    I figured to be my ace in the hole - how could Dad, the former
    college (Hahvahd, no less) football captain say "no" to anything
    when I (all 4' 10" of me) went out for football.
    
    Son:  Hey Dad, the guys want me in the band. . .I really need
    	  an electric. . .
    
    Dad:  We'll think about it
    
    
    Hoo Ha!  I knew I'd won and it just about made all the bruises
    of the gridiron worth it; hell, for a Musicmaster, I woulda gone
    through much worse.
    
    Perhaps I should have because next Christmas found me with the 
    world's cheapest, ugliest, stupidest-looking Supro electric guitar.
    Now, Supro was to electric guitars what the PDP-6 was to DEC, but
    what the hey, now I could be IN THE BAND.  And that meant that
    shortly thereafter, Anne, Bonnie, and probably a whole harem of
    others would be "mine" on account of I would be undeniably "cool".
    
    I should have taken our first "gig" as an omen.  Instead of being
    "cool" I was an unmitigated dork - in an effort to calm my nervousness,
    I started chewing a piece of gum just before we went on and so
    there I was, stomping my foot, strumming the strings, and chomping
    my gum, all in perfect 4/4 unison with the music.  To this day,
    when I run into Bobby Millen, he still gives me grief about it;
    if he wasn't a cop. . .
    
    But being young, resilient, and stupid, I pressed on and, in that
    second year I started to become aware of some of the more major
    disparities between the dream and reality.
    
    Because it was in that second year that Anne said she'd go with
    me to the dance - she was *real* impressed that we were playing
    there (and hadn't seen me at the first gig, either).  What began
    as a dream come true ended up as my first high school heartbreak.
    Oh, we went to the dance alright, but even before the first record
    was spun, while we were setting up, it became clear that all was
    not right.  Anne was getting pissed off that I was spending so
    much time with the band; before the end of the evening, Anne was
    dancing *real* close with John Ellis and I was just part of the
    entertainment.
    
    It took only a few more similar experiences to cement the knowledge:
    being a "rock star" is a great way to attract 'em for a little while,
    but as soon as the girls learned that you're gonna spend a *lot*
    of time practicing (alone and with the band) and are not gonna be 
    around much on Fridays and Saturday nights, the young rocker starts
    to hear things like ". . .it's either me or the band. . .take your
    pick".  With every song he plays the young rocker knows more than
    ever that he's meant to play the music; with every lost girlfriend,
    he learns and relearns the price.
    
    And past the point of "easy come, easy go" youth, when the 
    not-quite-as-young rocker begins to long for someone in his life 
    beyond tonight and tomorrow morning, the truth of the dream 
    begins to sit kind of hard. . .
    
    Steve

    re .11
    
    that was excellent, Steve

       RE: .11
       
       
       	You should submit that to the writers of the Wonder Years for a
       future episode! :-)
       
       	I like it!
       
       						mike

    re: the last couple. . .
    
    Thanx. . .(sheepish foot-shuffling, etc.)  btw, just to demonstrate
    how truly out-of-it I am, what is/are the "Wonder Years"?  From
    your description, it sounds like a tv show (or commercial) ala "Stand
    by Me". . .?
    
    Steve
    

       RE: .14
       
       
       	VERY good! It's a TV show in a VERY similar vein to "Stand By Me".
       I find it hilarious cuz it's about a 12 year old kid in '69. (I was
       8 but that's close enough)  I can relate to ALOT of it! :-)
       
       							mike
       
       	Wed. @9pm I think.. On ABC.

	>.11

	Made laugh and cry....good stuff.

	Melinda

    re .11
    
    Steve, if you aren't a professional writer, you *should* be!  That
    was excellent.  I read through the whole thing, and enjoyed it.
    
    Paula