Dreams

I once had a dream to be like Georgia O'Keeffe. I wanted to live in the desert and paint my days away. I imagined myself as the typical artist hippie, eating Tex Mex, falling in love with the electric skies, maybe even falling in love with another artist. I held onto this dream for years, then I graduated college and took a road trip from Vegas to Iowa. I saw the Grand Canyon (traumatized my mother for life when I stood too close to the edge). I saw Monument Valley. I got nose bleeds every day! That's right, nose bleeds and headaches. I was hot and sweaty and not at all hippie cute. The sunsets were pretty. That held true, but reality whisked my beautiful, romantic dream away.

I once had a dream that when the stick turned purple (i.e. I got pregnant), I'd be just like my mom. My mom was the happiest pregnant woman ever. Every picture had her smiling her big smile. Nothing slowed her down. Well, her doctor did tell her to get off the bicycle or else. And her water did break the day she played way too much tennis, but you get the idea. Guess what happened? I was the crankiest knocked up chick ever. Dream shattered.

 

I once had a dream I'd write all these books and hand them over to a person who would turn them into brilliant novels with breathtaking covers and captivating blurbs. Then I wrote my first query letter. And I received my first rejection. You know what happened? I learned how to be a writer and I'm still learning. I discovered the world of Twitter and blogs and Goodreads. I broke through my cyber-shyness.

 

If the dream is comfort, if it inspires languid sighs and dazed smiles, give yourself a pinch.