I fell into a bit of an emotional trough yesterday evening. I was walking to the bus after work and the enormity of what I'm trying to do hit me in wall of pain and fear and doubt. I'm never going to be able to lose this weight, I thought. I'm never going to get a good job, never mind be able to do work that I love.
The Beloved Therapist has suggested (encouraged? nudged?) that I can have what I want. That I can want more for myself. That I can recall and pursue big dreams that I once held with such promise and possibility. That I can dream new dreams, develop them, pursue and achieve them.
But yesterday that all felt impossible, unrealistic, and selfish in the worst sense of the word. Who sheds 40+ pounds at my age? Who gets to have good work, that both feeds and expresses their soul? How on earth do I juggle a better job with Little N's school schedule? I should have started a long time ago. I should have had a plan, back in my twenties. It's too late for me. I should make peace with where I am. No one really gets to have these things. Life is too hard and not that good. Scramble, scratch, and save. Be content with less. Savor the simple pleasures within the box of hardship that contains you.
But yesterday that all felt impossible, unrealistic, and selfish in the worst sense of the word. Who sheds 40+ pounds at my age? Who gets to have good work, that both feeds and expresses their soul? How on earth do I juggle a better job with Little N's school schedule? I should have started a long time ago. I should have had a plan, back in my twenties. It's too late for me. I should make peace with where I am. No one really gets to have these things. Life is too hard and not that good. Scramble, scratch, and save. Be content with less. Savor the simple pleasures within the box of hardship that contains you.
I have some ideas about where these beliefs came from. But that matters less to me, right now, than my desire and ability to change them. So I'm revisiting some of my dreams to see if they still hold true for me or if they've changed. Maybe there are versions of the dreams that I can pursue now. Maybe that effort will open doors, feed the possibility, of bigger dreams.
My first dream was to be a writer. I remember being 6 years old and drafting my first book in first grader's penmanship. It was about a little lost cat - largely plagiarized from a book I'd read - complete with my own illustrations drawn from tracing a ceramic cat someone had given me as a present. I bound my little pages of text with staples down the lefthand side. I felt like a writer.
My next big dream came at about 11 or 12 years old. I was troubled by a disconnect I perceived at church. We all got dressed up for Sunday service, we looked good for each other and made nice, but what about the rest of the week? It felt somehow empty or at least inconsistent. I imagined a church that I would host where people would feel God's own presence. They would go back to their Monday morning lives still connected to that presence. It would change their lives and, in turn, they would change the world. The rich people would share. The struggling would be comforted and their needs would be met. We would all know God, closely, intimately, really. God would be among us.
My first dream was to be a writer. I remember being 6 years old and drafting my first book in first grader's penmanship. It was about a little lost cat - largely plagiarized from a book I'd read - complete with my own illustrations drawn from tracing a ceramic cat someone had given me as a present. I bound my little pages of text with staples down the lefthand side. I felt like a writer.
My next big dream came at about 11 or 12 years old. I was troubled by a disconnect I perceived at church. We all got dressed up for Sunday service, we looked good for each other and made nice, but what about the rest of the week? It felt somehow empty or at least inconsistent. I imagined a church that I would host where people would feel God's own presence. They would go back to their Monday morning lives still connected to that presence. It would change their lives and, in turn, they would change the world. The rich people would share. The struggling would be comforted and their needs would be met. We would all know God, closely, intimately, really. God would be among us.
In my twenties, that dream changed a little bit. I'd had more relationships with individuals who were suffering and had experienced my own traumatic loss with the death of my father. My dream was for a Refuge House where folks could come to heal. It was part bed & breakfast, part retreat center, with a special Sanctuary room for meditation and quiet with God. I would hold the space safe and warm for folks to come as they needed. We'd have woods for wandering in. Good food available whenever they were hungry. Company for laughter and solitude for peace. Stay as long as you needed to, come back whenever you want, I'd be there, holding the space for you.
My thirties hold a fresh and stinging memory of dreams deferred. I came to Seattle for graduate school with a dream of learning how to use stories, via writing, to share good news that motivates folks to engage in their communities, big issues, and social change. It turned out that the curriculum of my program focused more on group work, as in people sitting around a table talking, and less on the written word. I graduated with a fresh dream to be a religion writer while holding down a day job. But that dream too disintegrated when I got pregnant with Little N. My life focused on keeping the family afloat financially, adapting to Little N's autism, and now navigating divorce.
Today, I am facing my forties and my dreams have shrunk down to a manageable size. I have two concurrent and cooperative dreams. To host small, living-room-sized, retreats for women and to be a Spiritual Director for individuals.
But what about those big dreams of past decades? Maybe my little, squished up, totally do-able dreams could grow into one of them? Maybe all these pieces of chopped up dreams, my education, experience, and even job skills can add up to some version of a dream? (Refuge House could be a place for Spiritual Direction, retreats, and writing...)
But do people like me, with limited resources and everyday responsibilities, get to have big dreams come true?
But what about those big dreams of past decades? Maybe my little, squished up, totally do-able dreams could grow into one of them? Maybe all these pieces of chopped up dreams, my education, experience, and even job skills can add up to some version of a dream? (Refuge House could be a place for Spiritual Direction, retreats, and writing...)
But do people like me, with limited resources and everyday responsibilities, get to have big dreams come true?
RSS Feed
