Big dreams are terrifying.
There’s a certain clinical satisfaction that you get when you realize a dream, but sometimes, that feeling is absent. Which is immensely frustrating and disconcerting. Because if you didn’t feel over the moon, what was the purpose of realizing that dream anyways?
I have always been a bit of a dreamer; frighteningly so. To the point of having lost two years to maladaprive daydreaming. But having dreams is one of the few things that keep me going & they are not inherently bad things. But they’re often used as excuses for why certain achievements have not been realized; it’s only a dream, we all can’t get what we want.
One of my loftiest goals growing up was to be tall. But that didn’t happen. I capped out at a solid 5’5″ & 11/64ths and was never more infuriated as an eleven year old. And I was not short by any comparison; being five five is around the American aerage.
But that was it. To me, I was capping out as average and my dream was to be anything but.
Some of my dreams, like becoming an astronaut, motivate me in my studies. While others, like living on a sailboat or van and traveling cross country, absolutely frighten me. Because those dreams are concrete and obtainable; but I know they lead to unpredictable, sometimes chaotic paths.
I will admit, keeping a blog is one of my more achievable dreams; this place functions as a diary of sorts that I can come back to and write about.
In the end, while dreams might be absolutely and utterly terrifying, they’re something to look forward to. Napoleon Bonaparte would have never gotten as far or fallen so far without dreams.
But growing up tall did take its own personal toll. I always reached things for my friends, managed to sneak into events for the upperclassmen and generally be taken more seriously than my shorter and younger looking friends. So I was miserable when my friends started getting taller than me. They’d hold things just out of reach and leaving me looking quite undignified.