I just realized that I have been systematically revisiting all of my childhood dreams. One by one I am revisiting the career paths, relationship options, ideas, that I once believed I could build a life around. And I have found very little left that is salvageable. Very little that I can pursue now. The dreams of the childhood version of me were based upon constructs and a body that doesn’t exist now. I am different. Life has changed me.
My dreams of becoming a dancer, a mother, a Jehovah’s Witness minister, the life partner of someone specific from my past; these are all dreams that I have had to let go of. And there is a deep grief in my heart. The Winter before the ex and I parted ways, he tortured me with one question “What do you want to do with your life?” Time and again, he would ask me about my dreams. I told him I didn’t have any. It was a lie. I had dreams. I was just afraid to find out what I’m finding out now: that dreams unfulfilled can be the most difficult deaths in life.
But face those deaths I do. And I cry. And I wonder what dreams may come to take their place. But it’s never quite the same is it? It’s like having a child after you’ve lost one; each one is irreplaceable. Each one is a unique dream unto itself.
While I grieve, I open my heart to the possibilities that lie before me. I do not pretend to know what dreams will fill my heart in the days ahead. I only hope that I will be able to meet them with the eyes of the child I once was, who felt that anything was possible.