To Know Our Dreams

Nearly every day, I ask my students, "what do you want to be when you grow up, where do you want to go, what do you want to accomplish?" I expect them to know and I expect them to answer and then I expect them to work hard in order to achieve that dream. I'm certain my teachers asked me the same thing when I was little and gave me the same expectations...

Anymore though, no one asks me that question, I rarely ask myself that question. It is as if when I turned 22 and accepted my first real job, I sacrificed my dreams and it became taboo to think of anything beyond my current position.

Please don't mistake, I do love teaching. Particularly, I love watching my students evolve, I love learning their stories. In part, however, I feel as if I am still a student myself and if so, I must be asking myself, "what is your dream, what do you need to do to get there?" At times, though, I find myself sacrificing security for passion, comfort for adventure.

I also think that "adults" are afraid to put words to their dreams. I am afraid. I know more now than I did the first time I was asked, "what is your dream." I know how unlikely my desired path is, I know how tainted the world and job market can be...simply, I know my time is much shorter now than it was when I was twelve years old...my time is shorter and my responsibility is greater. Too, as I've grown, I've learned that failing...rejection is quite possibly the hardest thing for my soul to heal from, not impossible but quite difficult. I don't put words to my dreams because if I don't achieve them, no one will know that I've failed...only me.

Though, if something never has words, it will never be realized.

My dream, then, is to be a writer. My dream is to live in a city that a car is a burden and bicycle is the preferred method of transport. I want to buy herbs and fresh fruit and vegetables from the outdoor market. I want to shop at trendy thrift stores and wear my hair in a messy pony tail every day. I want to run marathons on Sunday mornings and eat french toast and strawberries afterwards. I want to video chat with my parents and I want to be my nephew's favorite aunt to visit.

More than anything, I want to learn people's stories and write them all down..then, I want people to read them because people and their stories are invaluable.

It is written, it is yet to be realized...

It Was Akward At First

I am in Texas, I am a Teacher, I have new friends, I have new coworkers, I have a new home, and for the longest time, I've felt as if I were in a box. I woke up every day, attempting to suffocate my soul because I wasn't sure how all this "newness" would handle my old soul.

Of course, in my suffocation attempts, I became very unhappy, or rather, I became unpassionate, which is a terrible thing to happen to someone whose fuel is simply, passion. I felt as if I let my purpose slip between my fingers. I watched my words turn into those on slide. I watched my writing become some sort of script. I let my life become a template whose design lacks any sort of me, any sort of free.

My usually silly self became disgustingly serious. My soul could always been seen in my eyes, but my smile lacked any sort of genuineness . Tonight, though, my soul cried so loudly, "please, let me out of this box, please....live."

It was then that I danced. I shut the door to my room, I found my favorite songs and I danced. it was awkward at first because I had for so long lacked life, lacked the moves that made me. But, after 11 seconds, I was dancing and I was free. I moved as if no one was watching and even when my cheap computer couldn't keep up with the music stream, I danced. Soon, I was looking at myself in the shadows and thanking the good Universe that I hadn't left entirely. I was, for the first time in a long time, so happy to see myself move, so in control of every single motion while not taking the freedom out of any single motion.

Everything around me is new, but my soul is the same, and my god, my soul loves to dance.