The Days Before Dreams Were Dashed.

I've been spending a lot of time dreaming lately. Not the dreams you have when your eyes are closed, and something in your subconscious takes you places you never wanted to go.  I'm not thinking about those middle of the night fantasy dreams, or the scary ones, or the ones you really would like to know what could have possibly brought such oddities into your mind. The dreams I'm thinking about are the ones we dream when the sun shines bright, and our eyes and mind are fully opened to the reality of the day.

I don't remember when I first started to dream, or imagine doing things in my life. Real things, things with substance and value. I do remember at a very young age imagining being a space traveler, and living on a space ship. I do remember pretending to be a super hero, actually I remember being many super hero's. This was an age when we believed we could be anything we wanted, and we put no restrictions or our imagination. In many ways I think my childhood dreams might have been more real than I gave them credit at the time. The exhilaration driven by my imagination, and the feelings of joy and pride created through fantasy were real feelings. They raised the hair on my arms, and pushed my heart to beat faster, they made me feel special, strong, and important.

My mother did a great job of keeping a book with items, and diary entries from my early  years. I've seen where with scribbled barley legible letters I documented dreams of being an astronaut, a fire fighter, a police man, a jet pilot and many other things. What I've never really thought about was why both those fantasies of my really early years, and those dreams of my youth somehow got left behind. I've done many things in my life, I can't be unhappy with my life in general. But I haven't done those things that set my young mind on fire with desire. I suspect I'm not alone, in fact I feel very comfortable in saying I'm likely the norm. Money, smarts, opportunity, time, how many more reasons, or excuses could you help me throw on the pile of causes for broken dreams? Oh, and of course the best of all the universally applied reasons for allowing dreams to slip away, "it's too late now".  Too late, at twenty, and thirty, but then for some reason we reach a day when we refuse ourselves the luxury of accepting any cause but our own self as the reason for dreams left undone.

I've reached that point. It would have been better had I started sooner, I would have been more skilled then, and had more time as well. But here I am, and now is the best time I have available. I'm no longer going to tell myself the reasons why I'm not going to succeed. I'm going to ask myself why not? And I'm going to allow there to be no answer. I've taken a shine to writing, I'm happy with some of what I've done, and so are a few others. I've read the work of many of our worlds best, and only a few times have I been intimidated by their skill. Most times I feel like I myself could have been a famous writer. I however made the one mistake that brings sure death to dreams. I let my dreams sleep when I should have been dancing with them. I turned my back on things I was afraid of, and I walked past things that were difficult. Today I'm a bit past my probable mid way point in life, and many things continue to frighten me. Dreaming in the daylight, and following what my heart tells me to do are no longer among those things that frighten me. When you can wake up beside your fears, then smile and leave those things behind, you'll find that child inside you will wake again, and walk beside you as you find what you've been dreaming of.   

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