Down to earth.
I don't ever want to be a down to earth person. Things are such that I must cultivate a ruthless pragmatism, but when there is nothing in particular that I must do to satisfy immediate demands of living, I do not want to be down to earth. It sounds so dreadfully bourgeois. I want to have flights of fancy, admire orchids, and consider poetry.
Mozart was not down to earth. He spent most of his time pretending to be Italian, fell in love with a woman who never loved him back, spent a ridiculous amount of time writing beautiful concert arias for her and marrying her little sister, and died young after some weird paranoid delusions (probably from the same syphilis he probably died from). Sure he had sexist, racist plotlines, but it was the 18th century. Such was the zeitgeist of those times.
In the words of poor dear Oscar Wilde, "We are all of us in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
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