In order to truly understand the word quixotic I think one must have read Don Quixote by Cervantes, an old fashioned yet extraordinary book.
Lately I've been feeling quite quixotic myself, although perhaps not to the same degree as the person who coined this term. Admittedly I've always been a dreamer, I've always believed that everyone should have a dream. For what is life without something to reach for, to wonder about, to hope for?
However, my dream (well my latest dream) has been taking quite a hammering this last month or so, and after receiving blow upon blow (or in this case rejection letter upon rejection letter), my poor dream has been smashed to smithereens and is scattered about on the floor at my feet.
My question to myself is whether or not I have the courage, the heart, or the energy to pick up those minuscule pieces and attempt to string them back together, to perhaps carry on with hopes of success through another avenue. Or would it be safer for my weeping heart, and better for my aching exhausted eyes which have produced far too many tears over one topic, to just let this dream slip through my fingers and force my soul to find something else to be passionate about?
Or perhaps, like others, I should just give up on dreaming altogether?
Well, with the quixotic spirit behind me, channelling Don Quixote and adapting his lackadaisical, headstrong approach, I decide that I am going to continue pushing forward. At the end of all this, even if things do not turn out the way I envision, at least I will be able to look back and know that I did all I could, and like a true knight, I did not back down.