by Stephanie Andrews

Created on: July 23, 2008

Regret is probably one of the biggest personal fears I have. I fear that this little word will show up in my life whenever I ignore a small dream I once pondered, or whenever I fear failure or financial instability and decide to choose a more simple path in life. I forget sometimes that society wants you to believe that without a set career and without being financially stable, that your life is going against status quo (aka: less than ideal). But for me, I fear regret more than I fear being a social outcast. I enjoy defying odds because the rewards you reap in the end are far better than following the norm (or what is deemed the normal social structure of everyday life). I am still quite young, so for me I'm not prepared to settle down and raise a family anytime soon. Because I am not ready to do this, and have accepted this, I realize at this point in time, there is no reason that I need to put my dreams on the back burner for a position that will be financially smart. I have no other people to provide for, so perhaps I have a lot more freedom than most. But I find that what society deems as a successful and happy life isn't exactly my idea of happiness.

I, as do most young children, dreamed big for my future; I wanted nothing more than to be an actor. The social boundaries in a child's life do not exist, and so I easily found myself living the part of a performer (approval or not). I would twirl in the aisles mimicing The Nutcracker dancers, dreaming that I would one day be a ballerina for a national dance company. I would sing my lungs out anywhere I could, in the car, on the street, in the house, in the grocery store. I enjoyed singing, and perhaps a part of me hoped to market my talent at the ripe age of 6 (Who knew what talent scout might be listening to me sing next to the frozen vegetable aisle). I dreamed of being Disney's next princess in an animated movie. I dreamed of performing on Broadway, next to the greats. I constantly danced and sang my way around the house, once with painted ballet slippers on my feet (I had used pastels to paint dance shoes on myself when I couldn't find my real pair- and yes, it was an absolute mess). This desire to be a performer was very evident, and my family tried to hone my skills. I took dance classes, piano lessons, gymnastics, voice lessons, and a variety of other private instrument lessons (most of which did not last long; I just wasn't as passionate about them). But once I got older everyone accepted that with

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