Thread: Autobiographical Essay (Too Many Dreams)

I write a lot of essays about my life because... well, I'm 25, and that's what 25-year-olds do, right?

I've been doing one every couple of days now as practice. Here's one:

"Too Many Dreams"

I was a kid with too many dreams. One day after dance class, my seven-year-old self said that, when I grew up, I would be a teacher during the day, a scientist at night, and a circus clown all summer. Then I would get trained to be an astronaut and go to space at least once and write a book about it. My high school, probably spurred by some sort of grant, decided that four years was hardly enough time for a student to pick a college, so the goal of our freshman year was to pick a college and career. I decided that, after majoring in broadcast journalism, I would be a radio DJ making my way into the rock star business by singing commercial jingles and performing stand-up in comedy clubs. Apparently, this was unreasonable, and "English" was proffered as a better option. I picked film. After my final paper in the life-planning class was written, I promptly went about becoming a rock star again. I wrote music, sang briefly in a band, tried to learn the drums, sent a tape to Dr. Demento, entered every talent show I could find, traveled across Ohio singing the national anthem at events, and called one of my local radio stations over and over to see how many times I could get on the air.

Before school each morning, I was taking extra classes, sometimes show choir, sometimes French, sometimes just coming in early to bother my favorite teachers. I discovered the Mac lab. It had always been there, a great, multi-colored waste of time that allowed me to play Mad Libs with the librarians and watch Homestar Runner cartoons. For those all-important purposes, the Mac lab was like any other computer lab except that Mad Libs were much funnier when copied into Text Edit and read aloud by the computer voice called "Fred". The discovery was iMovie - then a multi-track editing program that could capture video from my dad's camera so that I could edit it out of order. Suddenly freed from the confines of editing in-camera, I could make movies!

There was no cure for this new obsession but to find a film school. After listing "Film Production" as my future major on my pre-ACT, my mailbox was stuffed with fliers from every film school from California to England. Even a country girl from the Midwest could see the pretension dripping from most of the advertisements - schools of art touting their "freedom to express", two-year film programs calling themselves "conservatories of film", even ITT Tech billing its broadcast video production program as a "film school". For a brief moment, I was set on going to Tim Burton's alma mater - the California Institute for the Arts - and I planned a visit. Another read through their website scared me enough to cancel it; there was too much emphasis on art for the sake of art... and I had always found museums of modern art a little creepy. The Art Institute of Philadelphia was next, but by that time, I had remembered my love of history and science and linguistics and culture and every other subject that was NOT art. In late September, just before the meeting with a guidance counselor where I would have to declare my college choice, I pulled a small, unassuming flier from the pile. It was from a tiny school in St. Louis, Missouri, called Webster University. No sororities or fraternities, no football team, no artsy pomp but an obvious creative emphasis, a film program, and Russian. I visited two weeks later. The campus was plain, cramped, and falling into disrepair, but I liked it.

Even at a small college in the Midwest, film majors seemed to have a grandiose view of themselves, and I fell quickly into the mold. Every silly editing project I had done in high school became a "short film", all of my favorite movies were dubbed "popcorn flicks", and, very briefly, I followed some of the other freshman in calling myself a "film prod". Though I aced every class, I was no prodigy as I had been in high school. The technical aspects were tough, and projects demanded more time and money than I had expected. I simplified my visions and learned to write for my budget.

While my little sister, who had spent twelve years talking about being a large animal veterinarian, changed majors after a year, I surprised my family by graduating with a film degree and a job in editing already lined up. Some of my fellow film majors moved to California. Some became gaffers and videographers here in St. Louis. Some are freelancers. One designs monsters for haunted houses. Some never tried to get a job in the field. I'm married to one of those, and I regret his decision to major in film more than I regret mine. In fact, I never regret mine. If I ever found the time and money, I would make an independent film. Heck, I'd direct a TV series. But I don't want to live in Hollywood. For film majors in Hollywood, life is often an expensive, disappointing waste, and if I'm going to work for too little in my field, I'd rather do it where my money is worth something.

The child who dreamed of being a teacher/scientist/doctor/ballerina/clown/astronaut/writer/rock star/comedian/DJ is a 25-year-old video editor/writer/convention chair/costumer/singer. Maybe not exactly the same thing, but close. Really close.

It is always an enjoyable experience reading the story of another person's journey. Particularly when the writer includes details and subjects that the reader can relate to.

I felt this essay was leading to an elaborate expression of ones journey through college. But what I found to be true after reading the piece, was three descriptive paragraphs of a student's preparation for college, and only one brief paragraph about the college experience.

If paragraph three is rich in detail about ones journey to find the college that best suites them. Surely paragraph four is worthy of the same quality detail. I can only imagine what four years at Webster University delivered you. Honestly, this essay deserves more of those great stories and experiences. Give it a shot! That is, if you find interest the idea. You may be surprised of the outcome and/or improvement it brings.

Also, the title is intriguing. I think you did well by calling this piece "Too Many Dreams." You displayed your many dreams throughout the story, from a child to an adolescent, and then provided us with the success these dreams brought you. Only to close with the many dreams that now flood your mind and may someday bring you greater success. Great stuff, Slythgeek!