On yesterday, I shared my grief at the loss of something that I really wanted. To say that I was devastated would be like saying the Amazon is a bubbling brook or the Pacific Ocean is a teardrop. I was severely more than just devastated. It felt as if the world continued to move and I was forced to stand still on that crumbling pillar I’d built. I had lived in a dream for a little over a week. Anticipating the joys and fulfillment promised to me. Desiring to work hard and let my light shine. It was a dream. A dream that I pursued with the gusto of a starved maniac. Today is Day 2 and I find myself trying to muster up the desire to pursue again. Why? Because I am a hopeless and excitable glutton for happy beginnings and endings. I know that everything will not be a success and that I will fail countless times. Still, I cannot deny myself the chance to dream and pursue those dreams. A dreamer, I am as curious as a child left to wander a toy store inside a candy shoppe. My mind gives life to a thought that grows and expands beyond celestial entities. And unless I check myself with the reality, I will dangerously float in mid-air. I am that child who wants to touch and taste it all. Just like that child, nothing is off-limits to me, the dreamer. Me, the pursuer always looking distracted by the things that I want. That pin tip hope grows within me and I find myself wanting to be more and do more. I am hopeless, but I do not regret it. Finding things to hope for and look forward to… that gives me reasons to move forward. To pursue is to continue. To continue is to live life with a passion that heals and hurts. If I’m not pursuing a dream., I am not standing still complacent in where I am. I am moving backwards and becoming less of who I intend to be. To be honest, what is life if is isn’t full of those sand grains of hope that cause us to pursue our dreams?
I recently suffered a setback. Knowing better, but feeling mortal, I got my hopes up on an endeavor that I considered the perfect opportunity for me. For a little over a week, I sweetly suffered through daydreams. Decor. Quotes. Dreams of desktop adorableness and rewarding work. Then, as if sharing the punishment of Prometheus, my daydream dissolved in a mere nanosecond. To say that I was upset, is a severe understatement. I cried the tears of a grieving soul. I cried until my eyes and cheeks were red and raw. I cried for the loss of the daydream and the happiness that I envisioned as its accomplice. Mainly, I cried because I felt like a failure, unequivocally unaware of my shortcomings. I rested and then I cried some more.
Until now, I never understood how the loss of hope, even a hope so small that it could sit on the tip of a needle, could feel like the loss of a loved one, a part of myself, or a piece of my soul. But I am reminded that the loss of hope is temporary. It won’t last forever. This daydream wasn’t for me. Someone else is enjoying the visions of my future and that hurts me a little, but it doesn’t end me. This setback is only temporary. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. And just like it never happened, I will dream and hope again.