Dream Editor

 

                                             "Lucid" from the Dreamborn series by Kyraith

Several years ago (oh so many!) my daughter Amie taught me a lesson...And it's one that I keep repeating to myself now and then, just because I need constant reminding.

We were waiting on the bus.  Amie was 16 or 17 at the time.  "What would you do if..."  I think this particular morning the subject was "you were to win the lottery."  Amie was lavish in her dreams.  She treated herself and family to many needs and a great deal many more wants.  She traveled and ventured and did oh so many things.  Then it was my turn.

"Well, I'd love to get a new car...Well not a new car, you know but a good used one.  And I'd like to buy..." and I named something lavish but immediately backpedaled. "Well, no, I don't really need that just..." and named something much more modest.  I went on in that vein, continually dreaming of something extra and then editing it down.  

Finally, Amie exploded.

"Mama!  It's a dream!  You do not have to edit your dreams."

I was struck dumb.  I'd spent my whole life dreaming and immediately limiting my dreams by editing them down to something sensible and 'realistic'.  What was this thing called dreaming all about if I didn't have to strike it down to something a bit closer to what I might actually expect to receive?  I'd be 'dreaming' that way my whole life long...

Growing up if I ever shared a fantasy/daydream with any adult, I was always told, "That could never happen. You are such a dreamer!  No one in our family has ever been _____!"  Fill in the blank with whatever strikes your fancy.  Rich, smart, a teacher, a writer, a painter, etc.  "We're a working-class family!  Those dreams are for someone else.  I've never heard anything so ridiculous."

And so it was, as I grew up, that I became too well aware of my personal limitations and the overall lack of encouragement.  

Sadly, those encounters throughout my childhood, dictated my life.  I edited down aspirations and hopes and followed the path I was told to stick to.  I was always settling for what was offered to me, never daring to strive for anything more, never daring to believe that more might be had.  I married the first boy I dated simply because I believed that was going to be my one and only chance.   

Turns out I was wrong about so many things!

I would love to tell you that I 'dared' to break out of that mold I'd been pushed down into, but I didn't.  I desperately wanted to go to college, but my parents refused point blank to even consider sending me.  So, I married instead and went to work in an office, a 'suitable' occupation and began a family.  Further down the road, I tried again to get into college, but my husband would only agree to a technical school education.  I took what I could get and headed off to get an updated business degree.  

When I completed the courses, I was offered an opportunity to get a full associate's degree by taking 9 months of college courses which included a Physical Ed class, a history class, an Art Appreciation class and one other I can't recall just now.  My husband wouldn't hear of it.   I'd 'wasted enough time,' as he put it.  Once again, I set my dreams and hopes aside and dutifully went to work outside the home once more.

Well...not casting stones at anyone here except myself.  I was very good at sticking to my rut in the road and not climbing out of it.  The least bit of discouragement was enough to keep me firmly there.  

I'll fast forward a bit, skipping the disastrous end of the marriage, the drunk driver accident, losing my job while in the hospital from the accident.  

I was working at a new job, had moved into a home of my own with my two children, furnished it as nicely as I could and was just beginning to dare to dream of a life lived on my own terms.  I met someone.  I dared hope that this man would be everything my first husband had not been.  Wrong!  I found myself woefully mistaken, on my own and pregnant.  And the voices that had always told me how foolish my dreams were chided and scolded and were amplified by a few others who felt they should add their personal opinions.  

Those dreams I'd dared to start to allow to soar had their wings clipped and I brought them right down to earthly levels.  

And then, I met John.  That was a good thing, but I was so afraid to commit to him.  I'd had a failed marriage and hurtful experience to follow.  I had no dreams of love or even a desire to try again.  And if a young woman has no dreams of love, you know she hasn't any dreams at all...

In time, John encouraged me to dream.  When he heard that I'd always wanted to write, he said "Then do it!"  I didn't get the spiel about how people like me didn't become a writer.  I must have been thirsty for that bit of encouragement because I sat down and began typing and before the year was over, I had a book written.  I didn't have a clue where to send my work nor any idea of what to do with it but I wrote it anyway.  

Don't ask what I did with it.  My lack of knowledge soon turned into my former belief that being published wasn't for my sort of folks.  And two years later, not one but two other books appeared in the publishing world that roughly followed my same idea.  One was a huge smash hit that is still in print.  And the other...well eventually she started a website, and I wrote many articles for her based off my own work because it fit with her concept so well.  

 I confess part of that settling wasn't just habit.  John too has his dream editor, that inner voice that said, "You have responsibilities.  You've had your one shot at Nashville.  Just settle down and take care of your family."  And if this man couldn't allow himself to dream unfettered then who the heck was I? 

That book still exists.  It's on a flash drive that is no doubt corrupted from having sat for years upon years.  It's tucked into the corner of a box where I keep little treasures I'd collected over the years.  Ironic, right?  

You see, Penny Ann Poundwise wasn't the foundling dream.  It was the edited down version of the dream I'd held for years.  I'd been published in print magazines and books and on popular ezines online but the newsletter?  That was me settling for what my inner dream editor said would 'do'.  

I started my newsletter on Yahoo! groups and worked for years and years with nary a glimmer of being noticed as a 'real' writer.  Because there is a group of folks out there who say, "If you haven't earned your living at writing then you're not a writer."  Recognition isn't enough.  Small checks aren't enough.  Google ads and Amazon gift cards are certainly not qualifiers, either.  

And now I am 66, and I've started all over again.  It is a fight every step of the way to make that dream editor hush up and just calm down.  At this point, what do I have to lose?  I'm not going to ruin my life.  I don't have to earn my living (it's been earned).  I've got more successes than failures under my belt.  

So just pardon me won't you while I climb up out of this rut, dust myself off and move over into that paved lane on the other side.  I'm curious where it might be headed...I'm a dreamer!

 

dreams shouldn't be edited...give yourseslf permission to dream.