When we were young...

Think back.

I remember, when I was about 5 years old, my family was in Florida staying at my grandparents house. I was lying in bed, crying. My mom came in to see me. I told her, I had dreams to perform. (I was 5 or 6 years old. Why the hell did I use the word 'perform'??) I told her I wanted to put on shows for people and hear them clap at the end. She told me, "You can be whatever you want to be...when you grow up."

I remember I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew she wouldn't let me do what I wanted to do then, as a child. Yet, at the same time, my parents instilled the same belief in me that ALL parents tell their children. The belief that you can be whatever or whomever you want to be when you grow up.

So, as children we have all these dreams. Tons of dreams! I know I sure did.

I remember wanting to write children's books and illustrate them myself. I wrote book after book, and bound them with cardboard covers. Then, I thought I'd be a painter. I destroyed our kitchen table with my acrylics and watercolors. I usually got more paint on the table then the canvas!

Next, I decided I was going to be a teacher. Which was followed by an astronaut. Then, I was going to be an actress. On broadway. Then, I was to be a dancer, and pranced around my house in a tutu my mom made for me. Even though I had never taken dance before in my life and was about as graceful as Bambi, I was convinced I could do it!

Then, I wanted to be a meteorologist. And then I was back to being a writer again. Only this time, I wanted to pen the great American novel and write screenplays on the side. I would then decide I wanted to be a movie producer. Then, for a brief moment in middle school, I thought I wanted to be a pro soccer player. Then I wanted to move to Egypt and study the ancient Egyptians. I had a fascination with Egypt. I still do.

Next, I thought I'd be an architect. I love traveling and studying achritecture. This turned into a dream of going into interior design. Then, a clothing designer.

In high school, I dated a guy who told me I should follow my passion for music. On a trip to Colorado, he and I decided I would be a country singer. Haha. Then, that path turned into a dream to be a songwriter. Songwriting turned into poetry. Me, a poet?! And back into songs again. Through out the years, I filled journal after journal with pages of nonsense, scribbles, words, and sketches. Few made sense to others, some I still don't understand, but those pages were always there for me to get everything out. I still write in a journal regularly. But now, it's not for the hopes of someday publishing it all...no. Now, it's just for a sole purpose of my soul. To clear things out. Whether they make sense or not!

And one of my latest entries, simply stated: "What happens to those dreams we had as children?"

I had dreams. Hopes. As a child, I pictured myself in a certain way when I thought about being an adult. I thought about how I'd look, and what I'd do. Who I'd spend my time with and what type of person I'd be. As a child, I was told I could do anything I wanted and could be anything I wanted to be. And I believed it! I thought that I held the world in the palm of my hand. That anything, and EVERYTHING was possible. I thought that as long as I did what was in my heart, my dreams would all fall into place.

But, as I grew older, sensibility and logic took over my dreams. Doing what was practical took over following passion, and my direction began to float away from all those dreams.

As children, we are taught that anything is possible. Then, somewhere along the way, we shift on to paths to become accountants, teachers, and lawyers. Things that make us prosper and practical. We go to college and study business or science. We no longer hold tight to the dreams we had as children. We graduate, get daily routine jobs, work long hours in jobs we hate, and lose sight of all the things we wanted as a child that made us so bright and hopeful. The things that made us unique. The dreams and hopes that made me, ME.

So, when does it become all about making a living and no longer about what makes us happy? Do we naturally let go of those childish dreams? Or does society condition us to believe that anything and everything really ISN'T possible? Is it symptoms of fairytales gone wrong? Or is it that only a few of us really have the strength to beat the odds and do what truly will make us happy?

Do dreams really come true?