Throughout life, did you ever want to achieve something or become something or do something so bad you dreamed about it, your thoughts were possessed by it and you knew, in your heart, it was worth risking, even if you failed?
Since you couldn’t contain your excitement, you spoke about it…to a parent, to a friend, to an aunt or uncle, to a sibling, to a teacher, to a co-worker. You weren’t necessarily seeking advice nor even guidance, merely an ear or maybe an ‘I understand’ or even a ‘Go for it!’ Instead you heard,
What do you want to do that for?
If I were you, I would do this, or that or even this.
How will you pay for it?
You know, dreaming is for when you are asleep.
Or a bunch of other concerns, questions, and opinions. None of which supported you or your plans. So, instead of following the path you wanted, you listened to others, believing in their words. As a result, you opted to walk down their path. Thinking they were right, when your spirit knew they were way off. Thinking you would be unconditionally accepted if you stepped in their steps, but what about accepting you for you? Thinking their ways were better. Besides, you have to grow up sometime. Nevertheless, your dream was still alive, scratching at your core, tickling your brain, reminding you day after day after day how delectably satisfying your life could be. And as your dream tried to break down the wall you built, you just kept stacking the bricks higher and higher, until one day your dream was not able to keep up with your murderous ways. So it turned its back, limping away to find someone else where it could be restored.
A few years went by. As you aged, bitterness, resentment, and regret took over. It filled you with so much angst, it was only as you lay dying that you realized what you had given up. It was only then you remembered the dream you had. It was only then you saw how it could have been. It was only then you knew, in giving up the dream, in not taking the path no one had traveled, you had killed yourself way before death even thought about entering your life. Your suicide meant it was too late for your dream to rejuvenate. Time could not be turned back so you could have the life you now ached for. You would never again have the opportunity to be the person you were always supposed to be. All because you let someone else take control and author your life. So instead of leaving a tome for others to study and learn from, the story you lived will end instead of providing hope and inspiration to those with dreams and yearnings to live life with themselves intact. And when death finally arrives, you will gladly succumb to its advances, so your pain will finally cease.
As for you, my dear reader, ask yourself…are you an author or are have you hired a ghost writer? And when your story begins to end, will you regret how it turned out or will you be filled with joy at living out your dreams being who you are?
P.S. This post was inspired by a conversation, of which took place on a 5 hour drive, with my youngest son. Thanks to him for sharing his dreams, his hopes, his fears, and his vulnerable side. I know he is journeying on his path, not mine. And that is the way it should be.