I've smashed a few dreams into smithereens.
And yet, the inner girl who knows there's a pony in that horse pooh, somewhere, if she just digs deep enough, still wants to dream.
As much as I treasure the here and now, and I honestly do, I can't help pondering the what ifs, the hmmm's, the somedays. The practical adult who occasionally takes over my thoughts chides me for being simple and foolish.
I dream dreams that narrow into specifics then develop loops and angles until they sometimes are hodge-podge, patchwork quilt dreams that look a lot like a life lived, messy, but lived.
I wanted to someday hold a book with my name on the cover of it when I began writing. But that dream has changed enough that this is no longer really important to me. I do have the need to finish the book I started with my friend. Because she is writing and publishing and it's partially hers and she's stuck til I move forward. It's a great story, and the characters are fun and I like them. I guess this is an example of a broken dream that still has valuable pieces that can still turn into something, right?
Dreaming can hurt, and maybe that's why lots of folks give up. Rob and I dreamed about homesteading and living off the land when we were young and adventurous. Reality got in the way. But there is still a part of me who fights off wanderlust, who really does think that possibility sounds satisfying to the core. And she also thinks driving around the country in an RV or living on a houseboat sure seem like wonderful adventures. Practical me says that I'd get seasick, fall overboard and drown, or discover that the fuel costs and parking fees would suck the very joy out of this quest. But then I run into someone who's dream didn't become reality until she was 65, and she's living it. Maybe some dreams are meant to stretch over a lifetime until all the puzzle pieces are on the table.
I believe I have picked up pieces of unfulfilled or broken dreams and placed them in a large glass jar. When I place it in the window and the sun shines through it, I am transported to the discussions, the thoughts, the lists, the hopes and the promise. So maybe, these dreams aren't wasted at all.
I see this dreamer quality in my kids, too, and I can't decide whether to be guilty for passing it on to them, or wanting to fan the flames of their dreams. So. I get caught up in their enthusiasm and I dream with them.
A dream that has failed is a dream tried, right? And failing is so much more that sitting on the sidelines and watching life pass by.
Dream? I think I will.
