Dare to Dream

So, I'm still wrestling with my recontract forms. And unfortunately, it's led to some sleepless nights.

Last night, I was laying in bed talking to God about the whole thing. He asked me what the desire of my heart was, what my dream was. My dream? I don't have a dream anymore; I don't have time to dream. I lay there for a long time trying to dream of something. In my hurriedness to grow up and mature, I replaced my ability to dream with coping and accepting. I stopped reaching and settled for receiving.

One of the definitions on dictionary.com for "dream" is "a cherished hope." A cherished hope.

I don't think I dreamed of sitting in a cubicle; I'm not sure many people do. I don't think I dreamed of wearing a suit for the next forty years of my life; I'm not sure many people do. I don't think I dreamed of sitting in rush hour traffic everyday; I'm not sure many people do. But that was the life I was expecting, that I was ready to accept after college.

My dream job? Wearing Timberlands and sweatpants everyday. Check. Playing basketball with kids. Check. Influencing people around me. Check. Having work/life balance. Check. Writing a book and lots of poetry. Check. I'm not sure many accountants can check all those boxes.

It took a leap of faith to get outside the cubicle. I often wonder what it would've been like to have stayed in LA working 8-5 in a cubicle sitting at a computer everyday. I wonder if that's something I could ever go back to. But if I can't shove myself back into a cubicle, what's next?

When I was a kid, like a small kid, it would've been acceptable for me to say I wanted to be an astronaut or a jet pilot. It would've been acceptable for me to say I wanted to save the world or invent a flying boat-car. Small kids are allowed to dream big. Maybe somewhere down the road of standardized tests and class profiles and job recruiting, our ability to dream was crushed by our desire to not be deemed foolish by the rest of the world. Because the "dream" job makes enough money for the big house and white picket fence and college tuition for 2.3 kids and a hefty 401k.

I would be called foolish if at 22 years old I decided I wanted to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a painter. And that's okay because I get extremely motion sick, I look terrible in pink, and I can only paint with spray paint. I think deep down inside, I'm jealous of the astronaut and ballerina and painter. I'm jealous that they had the courage to hang onto a child's dream in an adult world.

While I pray for peace and direction the next couple of days, I'm going to try and dream a little. To go beyond the box I've put myself in. I think we all have great potential to change the world around us if only we had the courage to dream.

I dare you to dream.