What are we but our dreams?

Meera
Meera
Aug 28, 2017 · 3 min read

I used to be very skeptical of my dreams.

You see, I’m prone to having grandiose dreams about my life and what I want to accomplish with my time here. When you ask me what I want out of my life, my tongue trips over itself. In my mind’s eye, my ideal self is an author. A dance teacher. A rock climber. A TEFL teacher. The pictures click by like the lenses in an optometrist’s phoropter (I evidently had to google “what is an optometrist’s machine called).

I like all my dreams. They are clear and they punctuate my imagination sharply. I want to accomplish them all.

But sometimes I tell myself: “Oh god, shut up. Stop dreaming. The world doesn’t owe you a damn thing. Get out of your head. This is how the world is. So be happy with it.”

And I sigh resignedly and continue along with my day, shunting my dreams to the back of my mind where they coalesce and battle each other for reign over my subconscious netherworld.

But as I hurl around the Sun, I am beginning to realize things.

What, is a right dream? And why are some dreams more valued than others? Who told me that my dreams aren’t valuable and aren’t meaningful?

Just because somebody else, my parents, or society doesn’t think they are valuable, doesn’t mean they aren’t. Value is subjective. What others find worthwhile may mean absolutely nothing to you.

And that’s okay!

Why are we waiting for permission to dream the right dreams?

Dream New Dreams

I was talking to a friend at a get together the other day. We had both completed a grueling four years at university and were disillusioned with our experience in general.

So I asked her about her dreams for the rest of her life, hoping that she realized that university was just a blip in her lifetime and that she imagined more beautiful horizons for herself in the future. She paused and stared at me for a while before looking at her lap.

“I actually don’t have dreams anymore…I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Her response shattered me. Because I saw her in me.

Here’s the thing:

Dreams are the gateway to hope.

And hope is the gateway to possibilities.

And possibilities are the gateway to a new life.

Now, if you divorce yourself from your imagination, and your ability to dream, you are removing yourself from hope. Hope is powerful. It might be the elixir of life. The philosopher’s stone or whatever. But maybe I’m being too whimsical. I don’t know. I think life should be whimsical.

Maybe we fear to offer kindling to our dreams because we’ve told the wrong people too often about our goals, seen the disapproving look in their eyes and took note of that reaction in our subconscious. Maybe we’ve met too many resigned elders who noncommittally shrug when asked what their childhood dreams were, waving off your questions with an air of feigned nonchalance.

Fuck that. Give yourself permission to dreams. Don’t die resigned. Stop being scared of embarrassment and failure. The people in your life who you think are going to talk behind your back are not the ones who are going to sleep with your restless thoughts and your whispering “what ifs?” They’re not the ones that are going to be with you at the end when you’re faced with the question : Did I do enough? Did I do it all? Was this, this life worthwhile?

Grab the stars and stuff them into your pockets. And to quote the incredibly resilient Jai Pausch, “always dream new dreams.”

Because you have to. It’s the elixir of life.

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