I sold my Disney book on eBay. It was a big, thick, heavy book, "The Art of Walt Disney: from Mickey Mouse to the Magic Kingdoms," by Christopher Finch.
It only brought $20.00.
My mother would probably be disappointed to know that I'd sold it, and for only $20.00. I'm sure she paid more than that when she bought it for me as a present quite a few years ago.
But it was time to let it go. Because it made me sad.
Don't get me wrong, it was a very nice book. And it didn't always make me sad. I loved it when I got it. I was really into Disney at the time. Kinda strange, isn't it -- a lot of teenage boys seem to go thru a "Disney" phase. It's not just an objective interest, it's a very deep, emotional kind of attraction. I've been there, but I don't understand it.
Anyway, over the past several years it's been hard to try to take care of such a big, heavy book. I wanted to keep it nice, you know. But I've spent more time keeping it "safe" than I have looking at or reading it. It's spent a lot of time buried away in one box or another. So from that angle, it was becoming kind of a hassle to keep it.
And, it was making me sad. I felt sad and pathetic when this book reminded me of my Disney obsession, which now seems childish and stupid. It wouldn't seem childish if it had been an interest from when I was, like, nine or ten. But as a mid- to late-teen....? And I felt sadder still when I thought back to wanting to be a "Disney Artist" someday.
Someday. That will be the topic of another post. Someday.
I had these Daydreams, really, rather than true goals or ambitions, of becoming a Disney artist. Not that I have the talent to be an animation artist anyway. Maybe subconsciously I realized that, I don't know. What I do know is that I never put forth any effort to develop any talent or skill or ability that I might have had. It was just, "someday I'm gonna go to the California Academy of Arts and become a Disney artist."
I should have had my sketchbooks and pencils with me all the time. I didn't. I should have been practicing, drawing, painting, sketching, all the time. I wasn't. Nothing more than doodling in the margins of my notes in school. I should have been APPLYING myself in art classes, putting in extra time, expressing serious interest, really trying to LEARN from the instructors. But I didn't do any of that. I just drifted along with my little daydreams of "someday." And sometimes I'd leaf thru my big Disney book.
So whenever I looked at that book now, I felt sad. And angry, angry at myself, angry for my failure. If I had genuinely tried and failed, I might feel differently. Then I'd know that, well, that just wasn't my style, or my talent, or my gift. But I'm angry because my failure to achieve is a direct result of my failure to try.
There are only a few things in my life I've ever REALLY wanted to do, as far as careers go. Animation artist is one of those. Film-maker is another. And professional writer. I suppose you could count Paleontologist, if you go back to my early grade-school days. But that includes like just about everybody, doesn't it? But of the few things I've REALLY wanted to do, I've seriously pursued NONE of them. And now the residue of those interests, when I run across it, saddens and angers me.
So there are two things to do. One, when I run across this STUFF, like my Disney book, eliminate it. Two, decide where my REAL interests lie today, and PURSUE them; don't PLAY at them; don't DAYDREAM about them; DO THEM!
Yeah. Like I have the time.