internal conflicts

At what point do dreams get sacrificed for reality? At what point did that little bit of creativity used to replenish the soul become just another moment not doing something that could be constructive.

I used to dream of days when I would take my laptop to the cafe in the Met, sit down there and in inspired sorroundings produce things that may one day be referred to as creative in relation to the works of art in that magnificent edifice. Life creeps up on you and one day you find yourself looking back on what could have been and finding no real answer as to why it wasn't. New York City is as fertile as you can get for inspiration.And sometimes I can't seem to get enough.
Yet I feel empty sometimes. I guess I must not be soaking up the right things. The soul of a creative needs to be fed. Or else, being in a city like N.Y looking for inspiration can become like soaking a dead leaf in water. It may re-hydrate, but its never going to come alive. Am I making any sense?

I guess that's my point...