When did we start doubting ourselves?

I'm sure that as a kid, all the way through school you were asked what you wanted to be when you grew up.  Do you remember if your answer changed at all as you got older?  Did you soon find yourself starting out your answers with, "Well I used to want to be....." and then going on to list an occupation completely different from your original ambition?

I did. 

When I was a kid, I knew exactly what I wanted to do when I grew up.  I wanted to be a writer and a singer.  But not just any type of singer, a singer in theatre musicals.  A writer of scary stories and a singer of songs.  These were my ambitions.  I sat up in my room in front of my typewriter hurridly, punching the keys, and pulling out the finished pages with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.  I created several "volumes" of my scary stories, with the main title of the series being "Stories NOT To Be Read After Dark!"  Catchy, huh?

I loved (and still love) musicals.  I memorized the scores from "The Sound of Music," "Grease," and just about all the songs from every Disney movie I ever watched.  I danced around the house, trying to master the ability to move around and still sing on key (although if you ask certain members of my family, they will tell I cannot sing on key even when I'm standing still.  This topic is still up for debate).

I'm not sure when it happened, or why it happened, but at some point along the road I got it into my head that my chosen career paths were somehow not good enough.  Or maybe that's not entirely correct.  Maybe a better way to describe it would be they didn't seem practical anymore.  Deciding I had entertained childhood fantasies long enough, I set about trying to determine my "logical" career. 

Don't you at times get utterly annoyed by phrases like practical, logical, and grown-up?

When did our childhood aspirations suddenly become unattainable?  Why are we so quick to give up on ourselves?

I went to college and decided to study communications.  It was really a chance decision, and while I enjoyed the field to an extent, I couldn't help but feel that it didn't entirely fit me.  So I made a spur of the moment decision my junior year and within the span of an afternoon declared a double major in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. 

It was one of the best decisions I ever made. 

I was finally immersed in classes that FIT.  I was studying and analyzing literature, I was exploring different genres of writing, I was critiquing and being critiqued and learning how to tell good writing from bad writing.  I felt like I had tapped into a hidden passion, when really it had been there all along all these years, just merely supressed. 

I think over all this stuff a lot, especially when I'm having a particularly low day at work.  I wonder how and why I allowed myself to fall into the pattern of doubt.  Why did I ever start questioning my abilities to write, to act, to basically do anything in the creative realm?  At what point did I lose the confidence to say, "Yes, when I grow up I am going to be a writer."

Naturally I took the safe path.  I chose the popular major and got the decent starter job right out of college.  I entered the workforce and began seeking out ways to add to my resume, earn that promotion, and work on projects that would add to my professional credibility. 

But it's not enough. 

As I sit there during the quiet moments of my day I think about that bulging folder of short stories in my desk at home, or that VHS version of "The Sound of Music" collecting dust on our media stand, and I know that I am doing a disservice to myself. 

I gave up on the little girl who worked so hard to write those stories and memorize those songs.  Mainly because it was the easy thing to do. 

Instead, I chose a seemingly more practical road, which luckily for me ended with a job.  Which ultimately led to money and security.  Both nice things to have, but not always fulfilling. 

Has anyone out there experienced this in their own lives?  What is it about growing up that makes us close off our minds and resign ourselves to simply getting by rather than thriving?  Are we somehow programmed to believe that what we do for a living has to be the opposite of activities that give us pleasure? 

If you've read this blog before you have heard me rant and bemoan the fact that I am struggling with my writing; with making the time to write in general.  I believe I dedicated an entire post to the fear that I feel before writing, the fear that the words will not come or that they will simply be trash. 

I'm tired of being afraid.  And I'm tired of feeling I have to be practical and logical.  

I won't be a victim of my own self-doubt any longer.  There is no reason why I can't be the person I wanted to be when I was ten years old.  Or at least there is no good reason why I can't try.  

Pay attention, kids.  Soon enough you will see me onstage belting out the words to "The Sound of Music."