One day I woke up and realized I had made a wrong turn. I had lost my dreams in a dusty cloud of too much hurrying and worrying. Hurrying to follow the social carrots that promised success, safety and happiness, and worrying that if followed my own heart I would surely fail. I could have blamed this "do as your told," "don't ask questions," and "obey the rules," mentality on a teacher's evaluation, on music theory--which mathematically stupefies me, on a still tender scar left from trying and failing. But I would be lying. Quite simply I didn't have faith. Not faith in what I could accomplish through study and expertise and genius, but faith in the mysterious process that inspires all art, all creation, all love and all dreams. I didn't trust the source of dreams, so I set about paying the bills and "working before play" instead. At a certain age one knows the hourglass is dwindling. The inescapable question becomes: What do I want to do with the time I have left? Rather than follow more carrots, I have chosen to rediscover my dreams.