Dream On

Dreams come in different colors. Passionate ones remind me of fiery-red. Bold carries with it a hint of chocolate brown. Scary is just plain black. They can wake you in the middle of the night unexpectedly, fear and excitement wrestling together like unsupervised ten-year-olds. I don't mean the terrifying dreams where your feet pedal like the Roadrunner's. Or the wistful ones you chew on while waiting for the stop light to turn green. No, this kind inches up from the soul, glimpses of possibility within reach, yet seemingly unattainable. Recently, I noticed a picture on a billboard. A large photograph of Randy Pausch, the author of The Last Lecture. A similar sign caught my eye, this one showed Susan Boyle, the singer who gave the world goosebumps when she belted her tune on the British Reality TV show. Both of these billboards delivered a thought provoking message. Live your dream. When my sight pinned on the picture of Randy Pausch, I thought to myself, his dream is getting bigger, his life touching others even after his death. About a month ago, with disappointment dripping off my tongue, I mumbled to my sister something about my unpublished manuscript collecting dust in a cabinet. She said offhandedly, "Find another dream." I shot her a sideways glance, saying to myself, but that was my dream! Then I got to thinking. What if dreams snowballed, layering on top of one another, until collectively, with each risk and failure taken, your dreams multiply like a constellation of stars. Randy Pausch said in his book, "Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted." Would I recognize a new dream? Is it hiding under the covers, shivering from neglect, begging to be discovered? Or is it already working itself out, a tapestry of mini-dreams pieced together, which just might reveal themselves as a billboard some day. Randy Pausch also wrote, "It's important to have specific dreams. Dream Big. Dream without fear." I would like to have met him. Some dreams are contagious.

The Color Red

"Do you want to look down the hole?" I stared at the young girl, who appeared to be around six years of age. She wore leggings and and a short dress with a sort of tutu, reminding me of a ballerina. Her small hand gestured toward the object of her fascination."What is down the hole?" I asked her. "Oh, you can see red." She tucked her long brown hair behind her ears, a shy smile playing across her face. I had no intention of kneeling down on the floor of the cafe and peer through the three inch hole. "I like your dress," I told her. "Thank you," she said. "I like your hat," she said to my husband. This polite exchange continued for a few minutes. She took one more peek through the hole and went back to her table. Inhaling a deep breath, the smell of fresh brewed coffee filling my nose, I glanced at the area that had captured her attention. We finished our beverages and left the cafe, my mind trapped by the mystery down below the restaurant. I am not an adventurous person, some have called me prudent. I don't like that word. It reminds me of a boring person who never buys expensive shoes and eats Spam to save money. The next week we returned to the same cafe and took a table next to the cryptic hole. Sipping my coffee I watched as a few young children took turns exploring the unknown down below. After their parents tore them away, I slid my chair back and knelt down on the old wood floor and took a glimpse. Disappointed at seeing nothing more than concrete and pipes, I stepped back to my table feeling let down. Where was the color red the little girl spoke about? Did she imagine a crimson kite or a maroon bouncing ball? Or a package wrapped with curly bright red ribbon? Maybe she saw a kaleidoscope of colors and only carried red to the surface. Later that day, I recalled a recent article in the newspaper that had described the decor of the restaurant and the hole was mentioned as an unseemly sight. I don't think children read the newspapers.