Dear Dreams

First, you told me that I wanted to have twelve children and name them all with "A" names. What the hell were you thinking?

Later, in the 8th grade, you told me that I wanted to be a rapper. (I'm still laughing about that one.) Luckily, it didn't take long for you to change your mind.

After that, you morphed into a dream of being a female rock star and you convinced me to buy a bass guitar and learn how to play it. I'm sure you weren't counting on the fact that, musically, I have only mediocre talent.

Later, you tried to be sensible and told me that I wanted to be an elementary school teacher. It's a good thing I eventually ignored that advice, as having my own children would make me realize that I don't like other people's children very much.

You tried one last stab at being completely unrealistic, when you thought I should backpack around Europe.

And then, fresh out of high school, two nearly back-to-back, unplanned pregnancies silenced you.

You gave me small and common hopes. Potty train this kid. Get that kid through his biting phase. Get a raise. Work on your marriage. Pay off your debt. Decorate your home. You smartly knew I could only see a few months into the future.

Eventually, you gave me a burning and undeniable desire for a little girl, which Nature thumbed its nose at by giving me two more little boys. You attempted to make me believe that I was devastated, that I would forever be incomplete without a daughter. You were wrong.

Throughout the years, you poked and prodded at the ever present buzz inside of my soul that told me I should be writing. Not washing dishes. Not changing diapers. Not attending soccer practices, but Just.Writing. You have made me feel guilty for the inability to fully throw myself into my craft.

A few years ago, you told me I needed to own a home and I obliged. And when my marriage failed, and I was forced to leave the home we had worked so hard for, you brought me up out of the wreckage to convince me that not only would I find my soulmate, I would successfully make it through six years of college to become a librarian. All on my own.

I walked ten steps backwards into a life I didn't know anymore and I started from scratch. And it was then, in the utter emptiness, that I had an awakening.

Every day that I am alive, I am living my dream. It is there, in every step I take. As I fold the sheets, as I send children out to play, as I read a novel in the tub, as I inhale the roses in our garden that have just begun to unfold. In every waking moment, you are there. When my baby's body is curled up against mine in the dark. When I am crying and when I am laughing. When I am silent and angry and when I am content and at peace. This life, this precious life that has been granted me; it is my dream.

I know your game. I have figured you out and you can't fool me anymore. I will not allow you to stifle me by sucking me into a future, more perfect world. From here on out, I know better.

Rae

"Many of us think that happiness is not possible in the present moment. Most of us believe that there are a few more conditions that need to be met before we can be happy. This is why we are sucked into the future and are not capable of being present in the here and now. This is why we step over many of the wonders of life." -Thich Nhat Hahn