Dreaming Reality

I used to be a dreamer.

I would dream up all sorts of fabulous things. Dreams of who I wanted to be, of things to take me away from reality, of great things, little things, it didn't matter. I would dream myself anywhere.

I'm not sure when it all ended. Could have been when I became a mother... or maybe when I became a wife... or even when school ended and life hit. Either way, my dreams have changed a lot.

I guess that comes with growth.

I used to dream of flying... flying over fields, in the clouds, soaring above any and all my troubles. Taking flight whenever something bad was about to happen... even those dreams where you are falling... instead of falling, I'd just say 'wait a minute, I can fly here!'

I used to dream of fantastic places. Someplace that didn't exist. Just ask my sister, I would tell her all about it, and she would often ask me to tell her the story again. "Can you tell me the story of the talking grapes?" What was I on when I went to bed that night?

Then there were daydreams. I would make up a place that existed somewhere in our bush... a place that never really existed, one with trees and flowers and a brook that babbled it's way through. A clearing that was hidden to everyone but me. It changed over the years... from a field filled with flowers of various sorts, to a pond with a weeping willow dipping it's branches in the cool, still water. I would go there to rest, to get away, to spend time with God. I would dream of taking my art supplies there, painting a picture, or writing a book. It was always so peaceful. It only existed in my mind, and in some ways, it was discouraging. Especially as I grew older.

Make believe isn't as easy as you get older.

My dreams have changed. I have found that these new dreams are a lot like reality TV. Kids aren't all that interested in much reality TV... or at least I wasn't. I wanted to watch the fantastic shows about things that didn't exist. Now, though, my dreams are of 'real' things. Even my day dreams. I think to myself, 'oh, if only I could get this house renovated', or I imagine myself putting the finishing touches on a freshly stained deck, or the final piece of the fire pit is put together, all done. Complete. Task oriented.

Since when did my life become all about fulfilling tasks?

I've always been a 'Lister'. I made to do lists like crazy. It helped me put all my ducks in a row. But, it was always balanced with my 'artsy' side. I spent so much time reading books, or writing stories of my own, dreaming up all sorts of things, making all sorts of crafts and art work and displaying it all over my room. My walls were covered with all sorts of things... and it went in stages. Bright colored images one time, with construction paper birds that I made using images from an encyclopedia (go figure) all over my ceiling, a precious moments room with 10 or more large, 3-4 foot precious moments images that were colored lightly and hanging all over the walls, pencil art work... it didn't matter. I even had brightly colored footprints going up my ceiling (why... an upside down world, of course!!). I had boxes of things I kept that would be useful in some kind of craft project, and I made all sorts of strange, interesting things as gifts for my family.

I guess I haven't changed all that much. Just... grown up a little.

But wouldn't it be fun to pretend again? To play make believe? To dream up all sorts of things, like finding some ancient civilization hidden underground, or creating your own secret hideaway, one that you can escape to, or even getting all excited playing hide and seek? Maybe pretending there are little fairies hiding in the cupboard, or that toys really do come to life when we're not looking...

How weird am I?

Task oriented dreams are boring. I'm tired of them... but I've forgotten how to dream. When I try, I always have reality in the back of my mind, telling me I better not forget the laundry, or Baby M is going to wake up soon, or I've got to get supper on the table, or that lawn isn't going to mow itself (although I wish it would sometimes). And when I used to make tasks easier by dreaming while I did them... I don't anymore. I've forgotten how.

How do you forget something like that?

I'm not upset by it all, just reminiscing. Life has changed. Things are different. My focus is no longer on escaping reality, but taking it by the horns and turning it in the direction I would like it to go (as much as possible of course, I cannot control everything, that's for God to do). That's probably why my dreams have changed so much. They've grown up. My mind knows what is important, and that is my family and the things that matter to them. But still...

Maybe Baby M and I will 'find' little fairy houses hidden in the yard someday...