It Was Only Just a Dream.

I was recently asked why I wasn't following my dreams. To be honest I got really offended by this question. Then I realized that the only person I could be offended with was: myself.

Lets start at the beginning. What is the definition of a dream?

Dream: series of mental images and emotions occurring during sleep; imaginative thoughts indulged in while awake; ambition: a cherished desire; daydreams; indulged in a fantasy; a state of mind characterized by abstraction and release from reality; some one or something wonderful.

Everyone has dreams at night, you have approximately four to six dreams per night. While these dreams are fun to share with friends they are not the dreams I am referring to.

For as long as I can remember I've always indulged in imaginative thoughts I was an only child for most of my childhood. Yes my little sister was born when I was seven but by the time she actually did things I was ten. I was almost a teen and we never really got along. My little brother was born that year. They hung out and I went on my little preteen way.

This is probably when I really started being creative. I always wanted to paint, draw pictures or make up silly short stories. This would have been the start to a state of mind characterized by abstraction and release from reality. I always wanted to be in another world that wasn't this one.

I never had a set idea on what I wanted to be when I grew up. No professions struck my fancy. In high school I started to get more into the creative classes. Art, fashion and interior design, creative writing. I was even on the school newspaper. This is when I decided I wanted to be a fashion designer. I also started a cherished desire to be a writer. However I figured becoming a famous fashion designer would make it easier to get published.

I have one full length story that only a few people have read. It's the typical thriller about babysitting. Another story has an amazing resemblance to a movie called "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer". As soon as I saw this movie in the theaters I stopped writing completely. This story hasn't been touched in ten years. I gave up my passion for writing because my ideas were five minutes to late.

I often daydreamed about what my future would be like as an author and a fashion designer. Where I would get my inspiration? Who I would marry? Where I would live? I daydreamed spending my winters down under, in Australia. Years of endless summers. These daydreams have become simple fantasies that I have accepted will never come true.

Of course if these dreams did come true, I would truly enjoy every minute to the fullest. I can no longer be offended by this question. As I get older my dreams and ambitions have changed. They've become more realistic, but it's okay. Your dreams change every night. Only sometimes you have reoccurring dreams...