Whatever You Do

… hold on tight to your dream!*

As a child I was aggressively discouraged from pursuing my dreams. I didn’t want to be a nurse or a ballerina or a hausfrau,…

… I wanted to be an explorer, and a treasurer hunter [my way of saying 'archaeologist' at the time], and an artist. All three were forbidden me.

My family had expectations that were not to be denied, and they saw that I’d have no time for any of my dreams by loading my non-school hours with household chores. While forbidden to study visual art, conversely I was forced to take home-ec and typing. Their plan for me was that I become a secretary, marry my boss, and settle down to a life of drudgery and start squeezing out babies — all to someone else’s benefit.

I didn’t want to be a brood mare. I didn’t want to be a kitchen drudge.

I refuse to accept or believe I was given a mind and hands of my very own only so I could become someone else’s peripheral.

To the very core of my soul, I rebelled. Sometimes I would carry bruises for my rebellion. And sometimes I bled for my rebellion. But I rebelled all the same.

When I hit sixteen and they couldn’t make me cry anymore, they finally gave up, declaring me hopeless as well as useless. But not before the damage had been done. Through years of relentless brainwashing and bludgeoning, I became convinced that I was no damned good at art, that I was no damned good at anything except for what they dictated.

With my soul feeling like so much raw ground beef, I settled into the corporate world as a clerical drudge, and all I could think about was how much I hated it,… any idiot could fill in the blanks of a form letter. I asked myself again and again, is this all I’m meant for?

But that spark of rebellion hadn’t died. However faint, it still burned and I still wanted, needed, to draw and paint. The going was slow, but I was pig-headed. I studied on my own, from anatomy to perspective to composition to technique. Collecting my books and materials, I began to experiment,… and proceeded to become my own worst critic.

I could never quit, though. Quitting would’ve only proven them right. And I so wanted to show the whole world how very wrong they had been about me, that all their cruel words had been nothing more than selfish, controlling lies.

And it’s my life, dammit. I’ll paint if I want — I’ll paint when I want, and what I want. For now, the only one I’m listening to is my Muse. She’s been there for me the whole time, and I’m not going to betray Her faith in me, not again.

It took me a while, but I finally understand:
The most important thing I can ever believe in is myself.

- Ryl

P.S. *This song by E.L.O. is my personal anthem, and here are all the lyrics:

Hold on tight to your dream
Hold on tight to your dream
When you see your ship go sailing
When you feel your heart is breaking
Hold on tight to your dream.

It’s a long time to be gone
Time just rolls on and on
When you need a shoulder to cry on
When you get so sick of trying
Just hold tight to your dream

CHORUS:
When you get so down that you can’t get up
And you want so much but you’re all out of luck
When you’re so downhearted and misunderstood
Just over and over and over you could

Accroche-toi à ton rêve
Accroche-toi à ton rêve
Quand tu vois ton bateau partir
Quand tu sens ton coeur se briser
Accroche-toi à ton rêve.

REPEAT CHORUS:

Hold on tight to your dream
Hold on tight to your dream
When you see the shadows falling
When you hear that cold wind calling
Hold on tight to your dream.

Oh, yeah
Hold on tight to your dream
Yeah, hold on tight…
To your dream.

- Jeff Lynn