Where do dreams go when they die? Is there a dream heaven where they remain, eternally followed – or perhaps even chased – rather than living stuffed in the back of the guest room closet, neglected and forgotten, until on a rainy Saturday you have nothing better to do than push up your sleeves and go sort through all those boxes filled with life’s accumulations? Do other people pick through the dump and come across a pile of dead dreams and haul them off to refurbish…because surely they can make something beautiful out of the waste you left behind? Is part of growing up growing out of dreaming and learning to be grounded in reality – even if deep down, in the soles of your soul – you know you could be so much more than you really are? Or is that just one more fantasy brought to your courtesy of every novel you’ve read, every movie you’ve seen, every alumni magazine that makes its way to your door showcasing your former roommate who just invented a cure for the common cold? Or, perhaps more scary than any of the other options, does John Mayer have it right and this is just a ‘quarter life crisis’? And how, at the end of the day, do you reconcile all those who encourage you to follow your dreams and be true to yourself with the other advice – most often from the very same lips – to be grateful for where you are and what you have? Doesn’t that level of gratitude preclude and prohibit any desire for more – or at least render it ungrateful?
How do you chase your dreams when all your life you’ve been told not to run indoors?
2 days ago
