the dreamer and the realist

"I am and always will be the optimist. The hoper of far-flung hopes and dreamer of improbable dreams." ~Doctor Who

It's a strange thing when the two sides of your personality are diametrically opposed. Before you feel the need to call in the white coats for me, let me explain: I'm not talking about split personalities or anything like that (though when I write that may be questionable).

What I'm talking about is the Dreamer--
the one always ready for an adventure, straining to fly when she's told she can't--
in constant competition with the Realist--
the logical one, the one whose feet are planted firmly on the ground, the one who wants constancy.

The Realist is the one who got a BS in physics, taught science to 7th grade and up, and who now sits through classes in medical physics. She is the one who does homework, albeit the night before it is due. The Realist is the one who makes the "smart" choices, like grad school and sensible shoes. She is the one who argues against writing, saying it's a pipe dream
a longshot
too unreliable
improbable
and not a realistically viable option.

The Realist is the side of me who makes my hand hesitate, who makes my words unsure because she knows they can never be perfect.

Then there is the Dreamer. She is the one who can't resist a new notebook, the one who scribbles story ideas in the margins of my radiation biology notes.

The Dreamer doesn't care about probabilities, only possibilities.

The Dreamer doesn't care about the smart, responsible choice. She is the one who wants to hide out from the rest of the world with nothing more than a pen (it's the Realist who says bring an extra) and a notebook and just write. The Dreamer is the one who has shoes like these tucked away in the closet:

Can I tell you a secret?

I long for the Dreamer to take over, to silence the Realist. My heart soars when I write, out of reach of all the struggles and responsibilities  of everyday life. I dream of "making it" with my writing, of being able to pour words out onto paper everyday instead of just during stolen hours.

I guess, though, it is the juxtaposition of these two that makes me who I am. The Realist and the Dreamer feed off of one another, and neither would likely survive long on her own.

As is the case with most things in life, I'll search for some kind of balance. The Dreamer will let words stream out across the page, dancing beyond the boundaries of margins. The Realist will steady my hand and keep me grounded, something I suppose is a good thing.

So now, if you'll excuse me, the Realist and Dreamer have conspired together to tuck the kids away with a movie before bed. The homework due tomorrow has been done today, so now come the stolen hours...