How often do we let the romantic ideals define our understanding of things?
Are we comparing our love lives to those we see in the over the top, idealized versions of love from the movies?
Does a song make us doubt our own music? Do I let a painting by a master encourage me or bum me out?
at some point we come face to face with the difference between the dream and waking life. We have the choice to either discount all that amazing goodness or to elevate our own work. Which do we do, is it fantasy or crappy reality, or wonderfully both?