One of the scariest things I’ve ever done is admit what I wanted. I’d been so resistant before that I even rejected the premise of the question… ‘What do I want? What a frivolous question! That’s not for people like me… people with jobs and responsibilities. How impractical! How silly!’
Why does it feel so exposing to talk about what you want?
It’s as if we believe saying it out loud will cause something really bad to happen… as if just talking about the feelings we’d love to feel, the things we dream of doing and the person we dream of being would weaken us, rob us of everything we’ve worked so hard to build, render us useless blobs of human jelly.
It’s as if your dream is kryptonite.
But a funny thing happens when you speak your dream out loud… Maybe just to yourself. Maybe in a whisper… “I want to be a writer/actor/person who looks after baby elephants … shhh.”
And after constructing your whole life around trying to be sensible, trying not to think about it, trying to create distractions from even looking at it, you write one blog post or have one conversation or make one trip to the zoo and suddenly it’s all you want to think about, all you want to talk about, all you want to build your life around.
That hidden curiosity or desire goes from unrequited, shameful, green mineral love to cocaine, Beyoncé and Jay Z, ‘who cares if it loves me back… I’m gonna do it anyway!’ love.
And the only difference between loving sadly from a distance and loving like you mean it is that you found the courage to take a baby step, to quiet the voice of self doubt and give yourself permission to let your imagination do what you used to let it do all the time…
Dream a little dream of you.
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