Dreams are funny things.
Unsubstantial, fragile, easily destroyed, elusive.
and yet we build our entire lives upon a dream, around a dream.
We make a dream our foundation.
Would we build a skyscraper on a bubble?
We spend an entire lifetime chasing after the elusive happiness a dream offers and yet somehow, upon attaining it, we find ourselves emptier than ever, wondering what to do next.
So occupied with the chasing we lose sight of what the dream meant to us in the first place or why we wanted it or what we thought we would do once we got it.
It’s no coincidence that we use the same word to describe both an idea for the future and a world that disappears upon waking each morning.
My dream is a room… littered with books and paper, ink and pens, a world where I am surrounded by the happy chaos of my own creation.
My dream is to stand on a stage and stare out at a sea of million faces and be borne up on the roar of their cheers.
My dream is to tell stories that make people laugh, that make people cry, that make people change.
My dream is to change the world.
Nothing much, I know.
I’m a dreamer, I’ll admit.
I’m not afraid to dream big.
But I’m also practical.
I know how few writers ever find success.
I know how expensive a college with a good acting program would be.
I know how hard it is to get roles in good movies.
I know that people sometimes wait their entire lives for a big break that never comes.
I know how unstable an artist’s life is.
I know how rare genius is.
I know how unrealistic my dreams are.
That’s why I have more than one dream.
I know a man who wanted to write children’s stories. That was his dream. But it wasn’t practical, so he chose to become a teacher instead. He grew to love this job and dreamed of moving to South America and teaching the poverty-stricken children who lived there. But he had a wife and children by then and he couldn’t uproot them. So he went back to school. He attended evening classes at a community college to learn computer programming. This skill was in high demand, but he didn’t get paid much. He never taught again. He never wrote the books he had plotted out a thousand times. He sacrificed his dream.
That man is my father.
And I could not be prouder of him if he was the most famous author of all time.
Dreams don’t always come true.
I’ve given a lot of thought to this… How can we be happy when our dreams don’t come true? How do we resist succumbing to the bitterness and regret of constantly asking ourselves what could have been?
The answer I’ve found it that you don’t limit yourself to one dream.
At first it sounds crazy.
Even the biggest dream has the sense to at least limit himself to one dream.
Well, I’m saying… Don’t.
Embrace many dreams.
And as soon as one dream dies, go after another.
Don’t pour so much of yourself into a dream that when it dies, part of you dies with it.
Let go of the past, let go of the dreams that can never be and keep finding new ones.
Some dreams fade over the years. Some have to be given up. Don’t cling to those dreams.
Find a new one.
Keep finding new ones.
Whatever life becomes, let that become your dream.