A Misplaced Dream

I have somehow misplaced my dream. It doesn't mean I am not happy. It just means that at some point in life I have lost the desire to reach it. It is not a sin. It is not bad either. I don’t think it’s a mistake, unless I make it one. Life happened. And what a marvelous life it was, and still is.

I will soon turn forty-one, I think I still have time. But then again time is relative. We do not know what the future holds. And so, as luck may have it, as I was sitting around and trying to figure out what’s next – my dream has reappeared before me.

Hidden underneath my soul, my desire to write had been rediscovered. Not that I believe I am a remarkable author, but then again it’s my dream. And if I dream to write, then I should pursue it with my heart. I shouldn’t let my insecurities get the better of me, because how would I truly know if I do not try.

And so I venture on this quest – with a friend giving me some inspiration – and started tapping away. I read my first draft, and it’s horrible. Do I stop there? Or should at least give it a chance and see where it goes?

Write what you know, and the feelings and the right words that go along with it will eventually flow, that’s what my husband says. Write three pages a day, or thirty minutes, just write and write and write. It’s my art. I will later have the chance to perfect it, I tell myself. But if I do not write, I will never really know, never ever know, if my dream is just that – a dream.

I journey today with my life in words and share with you my ups and downs, my struggles in hopefully making that dream come true. Wish me luck!