Someone I knew at uni talks ambitiously of being a film director.
It’s a dream. But dreams are easy while still living safe with your parents. You still can dwell in that child-like space where you can go anywhere and do anything. I’m not saying that it’s bad to have dreams, we all could and should, but dreams multiply as responsibility decreases.
When you’re in London, at the other end of the country from your family, suddenly dreams take a back seat behind a few other things.
Rent, food, clothes and meaningful employment to name but a few.
Being in London with only freelance work throughout the summer and autumn I wasn’t living, I was surviving. Living month to month scraping by with enough for rent and the cheapest sort of food. I couldn’t afford real cereal, I had to buy the very cheapest kind and add a little brown sugar for flavour.
When you’ve been to that brink, dreams of acting, dancing or directing suddenly don’t seem as important as a full time job which is setting you up for a career.
Some say that a full time job is ‘selling out’ or giving up on the dream.
But for me, a full time job was the difference between getting to live in London, and simply surviving.