that time i got real

          For the longest time, I thought I was a realist. I get how things are, I don't fool myself into believing anything ridiculous... or do I? Lately, I've determined that {thanks to my imagination, expectations, and a penchant for fairytales} I am, in fact, an idealist. My brain is filled with delusions of grandeur. Let's say I convince myself that I'm going to paint a 10 foot canvas, install it in my living room, and then sit back and admire my handy work. I even buy all the materials! But, what happens is I decide that it won't be good enough. I even did this back when I wanted to do the 30 for 30. I went through my closet pulling out one shirt after another until I psyched myself out and decided I would be too cold to do it or I would get too bored with it.

          I've decided not to let my preposterously high expectations stop me from doing things anymore. I need to be creative & if it doesn't turn out the way it is in my brain well, practice, practice, practice.

via

In case you're wondering here are some examples of my wild imagination:

1//When I envision throwing parties, I imagine that everyone is going to mingle, dress up, & stay until the wee hours of the morning having riveting conversation.
2//I always picture weddings to be these elaborate events where I'm wearing my favorite dress, my hair looks like it was done by a stylist, there's an open bar, and there's possibly going to be a choreographed dance that isn't something terrible {chicken dance, I'm looking at you}.
3//I imagine that all my perseverance & hard work will pay off and I will find a great job in a fun city where maybe I'll get a raise for a job well done.
4//I expect that my birthdays are going to be amazing from start to finish and I'm going to come home to find a bathroom filled with balloons and something I've wanted for forever all wrapped & on the kitchen table.
5//I once visited NYC and expected the whole place to be like stepping into a scene from Sex & the City.

Here I go, back to realism.