one night last week i got home from work, showered, and collapsed right into bed.
i had a vivid, beautiful dream.
so vivid, and so beautiful, that when i woke up, i was almost in tears that it was over.
i think the fact that our dreams and our imagination are so much more beautiful than the “real” world we live in is a sign.
the world is a canvas but painting is hard. painting comes with friction. doubt. delay.
i don’t think the hallmark of a creator is creativity; i think it’s perseverance: the ability to fight faithfully across the bridge from imagination to reality. how many heroes have died on that bridge?
after i graduated from college, someone gave me three words of advice:
be patient
be obsessed
don’t let hard change your heart
i think that last part is the most important. the point of dreaming is to let yourself overflow out into the world, but too often the world overwhelms us and the reverse happens. life’s storms flood our minds and water down our dreams. no after no after heartbreak after heartbreak. it makes you tired, and ironically, a dream is at its most vulnerable when its dreamer is tired.
i can’t say i’ve figured out a way to not become tired. but more and more these days, when i become tired, that’s when my vision becomes most tangible.
i see my father happy.
i see my mother at rest.
i see my brother & my sister without a care in the world.
dreams are the realest thing we have.