I was one thing, now I'm being another...

I have this picture of a life within me, a faith, a challenge, and I am ready for deeds and sufferings and sacrifices. But I am becoming aware by degrees that the world is asking no deeds and no sacrifices of me whatsoever, and that life is no poem of heroism with heroic parts to play. I still think I could have a great part to play, because life, I think, must in the end be in the right, so then if life scorned my beautiful dreams, one could argue, it was my dreams that were stupid and wrong headed. But no, I don't believe that for one second. I am certain, to the point of utter delusion, that my dreams have been right a thousand times over, just as her's had been. It was life and reality that were wrong.