My pointless pragmatism

Someone called me a "Pragmatic Dreamer"—at which point I feel compelled to ask: what use is pragmatism to a dreamer? Were I greedy or ambitious, my pragmatism might have served a purpose—something, if not someone. An objective worthy of mention in a history book: wealth, power... but to what end?

Were I only a dreamer, the tide of life would have swept me away already, with its thousand questions, all impossible to answer. I might have hesitated on the brink of important events—the ones worthiest of living—or perhaps I would have experienced just one, burning in the night like a sorcerer sacrificed to his knowledge.

Instead, being the pragmatic dreamer that I am, I savor dreams (which are precious) and quietly enjoy the short-lived, sudden flashes of beauty that appear before my eyes, amid the grayness and filth. Mind you, small for me is big. Explaining my "happy thoughts" would be a difficult task, and exposure might ruin them.

So! We should dream, since we have the fortune and ability to do so, but with a sense of measure and beauty—showing instead of flaunting.

A consumer society was established for the sake of progress. I say we can be pragmatic dreamers and progress without getting ourselves sick or burdened with a troubled stomach. We can live and dream without squandering the beauty we've painstakingly collected. Pausing to reflect, which is becoming increasingly difficult, now that distraction is everywhere.

Jason R. Forbus