Idealisation is a common pitfall for many of us.

Perfect in our imperfections, we continue to strive to better ourselves, in various ways unconsciously seeking freedom. What that freedom represents is different for each of us, a path filled with hope, ultimate goal towards nirvana.

While on this search, we may stumble upon certain individuals who embody a version of self that we aspire to be. No sooner are we left memerised by their presence only to find ourselves day dreaming of dancing unicorns sprinkling magical fairy dust on them.

We have, at various times, idealised our parents, teachers, lovers, friends and even strangers seeking inspiration as a form of realistic magic. However, when we hold these people on a pedestal of unattainable success, we turn ourselves into starving children sitting on the sidelines eagerly waiting to be fed back to existence.

When I look back at my life, I cringe at the numerous ways in which I had unconsciously projected my ideal onto people, only to cause deep hurt to myself.

My first experience of an ideal human was my father. Becoming a parent at the age of 50, brought with it a sense of maturity and tenderness that I was lucky to experience, as his only child. This didn't last long with his sudden passing around the time I was 15 years old.

With my father gone just before the raging hormones kicked into my hardcore teenage years, my memory of him had frozen in time.  And so, the years that followed, I grieved not only for the loss of a parent but also this ideal masculine presence in my life that I had grown immensely attached to.

What impact did this have on me?

An expectation of men that stepped beyond reality. I yearned for the same presence that my nervous system had so wonderfully found safety in, during my younger years. 

And as I swayed between this murky veil of reality versus illusion, with great instability, projections of this illusion leaked onto the men that I had interest to relate intimately with.

A fine line between inspiration and escapism, idealisation can be a form of safety, a protective sheath granting us permission to judge, expect, dismiss and disengage with reality.

How much safety can there really be, if the very inspiration we are seeking isn’t grounded in the real world that we wish to experience it in?

Inspiration expands to release all attachments, while idealisation contracts creating more attachments. 

With that being said, to integrate a realistic form of inspiration in our lives, we need to inquire:

• What is the nature of our projections of expectation on our ideals?
  
  
• How can the inspiration seek outside of ourselves be accessed from within?
  
  
• How much of our ideals is a form of escaping reality?
  
  
• What can encourage us to stay grounded in our present reality?
  
  

Ultimately, the essence of idealism is simply a deep yearning to experience the meeting of the unseen with the seen worlds of existence.

May the starry-eyed monster of idealisation pave the wondrous path back to a grounded yet safe reality of inspiration.