I've thought about this blog space every so often since February when I last opened up a page and began to type. Writing is a delicate thing for me. I harbor a secret (well, not anymore) desire to one day write something and have it published. I've held this idea in my mind since the second grade when my teacher wrote me a note saying she hopes to read my book someday. She passed away that school year. Leukemia. I still think of her often, and always, always when I see a monarch butterfly.
The seed that she planted in my mind is alive and well, just... not quite germinating. I'm not exactly watering it.
Acting on a dream is possibly the bravest thing one can do. Dreams are deeply personal. Upon taking action, the dream no longer lives only in your heart, safe and nurtured by imagination. It's thrust into the harsh light of day, and you're not quite sure it can survive there. Can you care for it adequately once it's out and exposed to the gusting winds and the sweltering stare of the sun? You risk the death of your dream when you decide to see if it can live outside of you.
Words come to mind:
Not good enough, no one cares what you think, you're embarrassing, no one will listen, you don't know how to work that hard, you don't want to work that hard. Who do you think you are? What will you dream of if you squash this one?
The thing about dreams is, they're sustenance. Those magical little seeds feed our minds and fill our hearts. We keep them tucked away safely inside because we all go through times where our dreams sparkle more than real life. In those times, we open up the place where our dreams live, we take a peek, and they give us somewhere to visit, an alternate universe of sorts. One that perhaps, maybe, we could really live in permanently if we're brave enough and work hard enough. Just that possibility keeps it a pleasant and perfectly logical place to visit every now and then. A surge of joy, of hope, of possibility. Close and lock the door until next time.
What's your dream? Do you have a safe haven in your imagination? One that you're tempted to go forth in pursuit of, but fear stops you short? I imagine this is a very common human condition.
I do wonder... Do seeds eventually go bad? I don't know the answer. (I could Google it, but I prefer to wonder. Or maybe I'm afraid to know the answer.) I do know that our bodies eventually expire, and as far as I know, the magic that is the imagination and all the dreams contained within go, too.
Like a seed, dreams need regular watering to burst open and send forth a seedling into the light of day. The seedling must be tended and watered if you expect it to mature and grow; and to bear fruit, it needs more of the same. A single watering won't do. But even when regular, loving care is provided, you still may fail. What's a flawed human to do?