Despite how excited you may be to hear my perspective on love and relationships (this is sarcasm btw) I will not be talking about kind type of heartbreak.

For that, I will refer you to Raw's tweet he posted yesterday.

As with everything, I don't 100% agree with the sentiment (nuance, I know, scary) but it perfectly captures what I'll be talking about today in "love" sense.

The type of heartbreak I'm talking about hurts way more.

It sticks around longer.

You can't drink it away.

You can't rebound to another thing and convince yourself it's real.

You can't blame anyone but yourself because, unlike a relationship, you're the only one who could break it off.

The type of heartbreak I'm talking about is dreams.

The beautifully painful act of crushing your own dreams.

Breaking your own heart.

The first time I broke my own heart was Sophomore year of College (we don't say Sophomore or College in Canada so that was really funny to type).

Three years prior, I was sitting in my High school guidance councillor's office, with a LONG list of University programs to choose to apply to.

"Riley, you have to pick three. Even if you don't fully plan on going, you have to pick. It's part of the school system"

I had a really cool guidance councillor. His name was Mr. Tope. He was my dads friend. Really solid guy. The type you'd look forward to a handshake and a "Hello" from in line at the grocery store.

He knew me. Well, he knew enough about me to know I was completely, utterly, royally fucked.

He'd seen my types before.

He knew there was nothing on that list of programs for me.

Working in the education system, I assume there comes a point (similar to Government workers) where you need to just swallow the bullshit pill and drink the Kool-Aid.

I could tell it was extra painful for him.

"But you've got to go to school, right, Kid? You're too smart to just get into the trades. You can jump to Construction when you're 30 if you want. You got to give the school thing a shot."

"I don't know, Tope. I think I want to create things. I want to start a business. I love photography, you've seen my pictures. They've hung them all over the walls of the school they were so good!"

"Art doesn't pay the bills, Lamont."

...

"But, there is this one program. Downtown Toronto. Creative Industries"

So I chose.

I only chose one. I literally didn't have any other choices.

This one Knight in Shining Armour, the program MADE for kids like me.

"Interdisciplinary. Entrepreneurial. The New Creative Economy."

A course for artists who wanted to make a living.

In fact, to quote directly from the program's website:

"In this interdisciplinary program, you'll learn the fundamentals of creative industry operations — from how to develop creative ideas into business models, to marketing, finance, distribution, legal agreements, technology, design thinking and more.

You’ll develop a diverse skill set that allows you to move in a variety of directions after graduation and provides you with direct experience in creative fields including media, design, advertising, live entertainment, fashion, heritage and culture, and visual arts."

They lied right to my fucking face.

Of course they did. You can't teach a University course on "how to make money doing what you like to do and what you're naturally talented at and the world actually rewards innovation and creativity more than they do factory workers but that isn't concrete enough for us to charge you 100 grand in tuition" and expect it to work.

So I did a year. Hoping things would work.

They didn't.

I stayed in the dorms. Looked forward to that, too. I had a few keg stands in me.

Lied about that too. Kids don't party anymore. Especially in the immigration / international student capital of the World. Especially post-Covid.

A couple courses were fun. Absolutely nothing to do with my future whatsoever, but they were interesting.

So here I was.

19 years old. Broke as shit. Lost. Confused.

But I had a glimmer of hope, a sparkle in my eye. Yeah the program wasn't exactly what I was promised, but that's life! There's tons of kids older than me working really sick jobs -- creative directors, photographers, graphic designers, working at recording studios.

And I was in Toronto! The Big City!

Yeah, things were confusing, but they were optimistic! I still had my internship, and the curriculum got more exciting as the years went on.

So what did I do.

I took a rusty metal spoon and gouged out the last bit of sparkle left in my young, innocent eyes.

Fuck that.

I was either going to one-eye-opened walk the path of lies long enough for the world to break my heart one little crack at a time...

Or I was going to rip the band aid off and sledgehammer that shit WIDE open.

And I did.

And it hurt.

A lot.

I literally had nothing left.

I didn't have a fucking OUNCE of hope.

I had 0 plans.

I couldn't name a single person living a life I want.

Couldn't name a single University program that could get me even CLOSE to an enjoyable job.

Had no clue how to make a penny from any of my creative talents.

No one to ask for help. What the fuck would I ask them?

"Hey, any chance you could give me an idea of whether there is a possibility of me finding anything worthwhile to do with my life? Thanks, Reader."

So, on January 1st, 2023, I clicked the "Drop Out" button on my University portal...

Poured myself the last glass of Johnnie Walker Black I had left over from a Christmas present...

Opened up my Youtube app, and searched...

"How to become a copywriter"

- RL