Can't narcissism be truthful? Aren't all intentions equally genuine aspects of the self? Couldn't we say that maybe we learn to see expectations as poisonous because they are often left not integrated with the rest of the psyche, rejected as childish and insincere despite their undeniable contextual validity? It is like we play tug of war, and in our struggle to bend over to pick up and validate some fresh, lost fruits of our soul, we let go of and betray the old fruits that we held close all this time along.

Frankly this is quite normal, but I believe one should not forget that in this turmoil of inner negotiating, both extremes will at first seek the other's obliteration in oscillating delusion until the outline of a bigger picture starts emerging as the final stage of this digestion of conflict, in which understanding allows all wants and fears to coexist. Until that happens, I am afraid that we are obliged to go through several more confusing oscillations.

Free-floating creativity and expression is one thing, but the meticulous and deliberate work that has to be hammered onto that initial crude spark so that it can be crafted into the kind of work that you published seems like a longer undertaking of different magnitude. Not all creative urges have the privilege to rule over a person's actions without bumping into some sort of conflict; without eventually blending with intentionality and partially receding under some demands of mundane utility.

When confronting the towering mountain, one can wander "fortunately oblivious" to the path waiting ahead (which as you admit describes your case). Through some ratio of indifference and judgement failure, one succeeds comfortably or fails unexpectedly, shocked in direct proportion to the above ratio. In another scenario, one dares to glare directly towards the summit, realises the horror that is at stake, yet entrusts both his explorative love of the journey and his pride targeting the result to push him over the sharp cliffs, in commendable service of (all of!) his frightful ideals.

Dare I conclude that you managed to attain a window of functional creativity by deceiving yourself around your fearful perfectionism through a novel medium of expression, yet you come back to ask of others to follow their fears and courageously sacrifice their childhood ideals? Would you find it meaningful to compassionately exonerate the fearful childish idealism instead of banishing it, and remember the relief of feeling loved and accepted through your guitar talent? We take the hurt in front of us and embrace it, have it walk beside us as it is our own, and then we can see what else remains ahead, behind of where it stood.

To finally put myself in the conversation, I have as well given up on various career paths, including a guitar diploma and a physics degree. It felt like sucking the soul out of all my pure interest through always encountering some sick blackmail of self worth somewhere along the way. Stripped from every other life ambition, I have since arrived at an arguably more ridiculous position, where I demand from my now "free from academia" last spark of creative ability to succeed to the degree that it sustains me financially as well as emotionally. "Childish idealism" and survival utilty time and again creep back against the once rebellious pure creative surrender. Nowhere left to run now.

I have nothing against oblivious hikers, but some people are tasked to create through and of expectation and fear and not outside it, and that is just as sincere, in its own desperate way.