The death of a dream never born
Started reading Reclaim Your Dreams by Jonathan Mead the other day wherein there are several "exercises" - you know, the kind you usually skip over for the sake of just completing the book. However, this one was different in that by not doing it, I likely gained more insight than the exercise could have offered. The exercise consisted of a single question requiring you write down your answer. The question, "What are your dreams?"
As I skipped past this silliness a small part of my brain lingered on these four words. Continuing to read without actually processing the words on the page my mind became consumed by the void that was the answer to this question. Just one year ago this would have so simple, so straight forward, so very easy at that time in my life. But when was that? That was when the quality of my life was determined by the things in it that I controlled: my cars, plasma televisions, carbon fibre bicycles, and all of it in my "better than your" house. My list would have taken a small notebook less one sheet of paper.
Now this emptiness grew so I moved quickly to fill it with some form of fodder even I did not know the origins thereof. "I dream of having no mortgage payment." "I dream of having no car payment." "In my dream the house does not need paint next year." All of it utter bullocks. These are not dreams but aspirations driven by the trappings of the life I dug myself into. Not even that, these were preferences - who would prefer not to make a car payment? Had I become so shallow, so trite that a zero balance on a credit card was a dream?
Then the superficial set in - I had to be better than this. Fantastic marriage to the love of my life - uh, got that. Inner peace and calm as I live in the moment and embrace life every day I wake - I thought that's BS and I prove it every time I leave for the office in the morning rather than stay home with my great wife and fantastic dogs in our lovely home. My charity work...never mind.
There must be a context I can put this in that will allow me to dream. Truly dream while awake and see what it is that is my purpose. So absorbed with the grind of life, the goals that typify most of us, that my dreams have been crushed under the weight of unattainable goals. Worse yet, they are not even my goals.
I still do not have a list of dreams - but they will come. What I have derived is a purpose - to live my dreams, whatever they might be, and tell the story of how I did it in hopes of inspiring others to do the same. Clearly there are already books on this topic, so the concept is not new. However, we must know that inspiration strikes in a moment, can come from anywhere, and can forever change your life. With my story in the wild, perhaps I can be that motivation that strikes in some moment and inspires. Perhaps there will be a stumbling, or a missed key stroke that will bring someone here for just the moment necessary. Of course, to fulfill my purpose I will have to keep going now won't I?