To Dream and Dare

I swear sometimes it seems like everything is uphill.
Nothing comes easy. And even the good ideas come with some problems, which makes it uncomfortable to get your hopes up.
But you do.
This still happens, inevitably, of course and you become cautiously optimistic until the flavor hits your tongue and then you can taste it —then you get your hopes up.
Only, you’re afraid, which makes it hard to dream because the dream itself is perfect. All dreams are perfect, else they would call them something else, like nightmares, for example.

Dreams are perfect and fantasy is perfect too because nothing goes wrong here. Everything works in the dream world.
There are no sudden or unforeseen problems; no hitches, no snags, nothing to spoil the pristine picture, until the end result is a sculpted version of what we wished for.
It’s hard to dream sometimes.
It’s frightening too.
I know it is.
It’s hard to see the finish line when you feel lost in the race —there’s still too far to go and you’re in too deep to turn back now or quit.

And as for you, “Reality.”
What is it with you anyway, huh?
Are you trying to have fun with me?
Are you playing a joke?
Do you want to see if I’ll break, or crack, or cry?
Guess what?
I’ve done all the above, more times than once.

Get up, son.
You have to keep going!

I have this picture (You see?) which I’ve always had, and it’s me. This is me, hard at work at this thing I’ve been sculpting for a while.
And I celebrate sometimes because it’s so beautiful to me.
It’s me in my little work room; sculpting and placing pieces to this thing I call my trick. And I dream about the day I unveil her, my most personal achievement, and I rip off the cover and say, “Ta-Da!”

I rehearse this in my head and move closer to finished product. I dream of this. I dream about the day I reveal this, my most precious thing, and I smile for a while because I like the idea.
This is my heart. Did you know that?
This is my desire and my dream?
More to the point, this is literally everything I own.
It’s all I have. In fact, I call it my “Hope.”
Did you know that?

I go back to sculpting and designing. I think of the parts I would need to perfect my craft and the colors I might use to tint and enhance my finished product.
This is enough to make me feel good.
Know what I mean?
It’s like I have something—even if no one else can see this and even if no one else knows what I’ve been building; I have this thing I’ve been building, only, I rarely if ever dare to reveal her to anyone because in all honesty, I’m afraid, which is sad sometimes because I am like a little boy, building a clubhouse on my own with no one to share the joy with

So what do you want from me, “Reality?”
You want me to just put it all out there so the world can interpret my brain?
(And be wrong about it? Or laugh?)
You want me to take a risk and expose myself and be vulnerable?
Is that it?
So I could give all my heart and feel cold and exposed?

Is my honesty too raw for you?
Is this what you want to hear?
That I’m scared?
That I don’t believe I have what it takes?
That I don’t believe I’m enough?

Get up, son.
You have to keep going

I come here to this little room in my mind, in which I am the inventor. I am the explorer. I am the author and the controller. I am the one behind the controls, moving the parts of my dream, like someone happily running their own little model, like say, a town with train set—or something like that.

I have created this modeled town with modeled streets and modeled homes—people freeze-framed in still motion poses, cars at traffic lights, little trees and bushes, small yellow fire hydrants along the sidewalks—friendly neighbors, frozen in waving poses in front of their homes, little dogs on leashes, friendly enough to insinuate the gesture of a good place to live.

This is the town in my dream, which is just down the road from my big red barn that sits in-between the mountains. This is my farm.
This is part of me dream too. And I build this model with all that I have. I sculpt it, mold it, create the idea, and when it’s time to go, I close the light in this room and promise, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow to play with you.”
Then I leave and go on with my day, holding this place a secret to me. I do this because this place is too perfect for me to allow reality to come in and change the construction.

Know why it’s hard to reveal things?
It’s because interpretation is not always the same as our intentions. I mean, we do things and we say things without intention; however, interpretations come along and screw up the trick.

What’s the matter, “Reality?”
Are you afraid we might just slip one passed you and have our own way?

Don’t worry.
We all know who’s in charge.
And I know it’s not me.

I’m just trying to build something.
That’s all.
I just want to pull off my trick.
Is that too much to ask for?

I swear sometimes, everything seems like I’m going uphill.
I swear if I hear one more person tell me about how this only serves to make me stronger, I’ll only hope that I can be strong enough to choke them after they say it.

Is that what you want from me, “Reality?”
Do you want me to fight?
Is that it?

With regards to Nietzsche: Whatever does not kill us will only serve to make us stronger—would it be possible to be less strong? I mean (I swear) the stuff that hasn’t killed me yet is literally killing me sometimes.
Know what I mean?

Get up, son.
Keep going

Okay . . .
I haven’t stopped, you know. I’m still building.
I’m still shaping this little town in my head. I’m still building the train set in my little workshop (so to speak) and sometimes, it’s fun enough to sit with my little engineer’s hat and let the trains roll through town—only this model isn’t finished yet. And either am I.
And no, I suppose I don’t share this with too many people. I guess I’m like a little boy sometimes, playing in his room, so personal, so intimate, playing make believe and pretending, which I feel is a good thing —to play, to dream, to build this thing I call my own.
And someday, maybe, I’ll reveal my trick.
Someday, maybe, I’ll pull off the cover and shout, “Ta-Da!”

But for now, I have life to tend to. I have you, “Reality” to contend with. And then there are the critics too. We can’t forget them/ They’re everywhere—they’re those who never dared to do or dream or build, but yet, they seem to have a pretty strong opinion about this stuff. They have a strong opinion about anyone and everyone else.

Get up, son.
You have to keep going

Okay, “Reality.”
I’ll get up.
I might not like it and I might not want to.
But I’ll do it.
If for no other reason than to spend a little more time here (with you) to work on my trick

Hey, just for the record, I don’t mind showing you my workshop so much.
Just keep this place between us, will ya?
Maybe next time I’ll run the trains for you. Maybe i’ll let you hold the handle. This way you can get the feel for it. This way (maybe) you’ll feel what I feel when I ante up and start to build.

I have to tell you
It’s pretty incredibl

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