Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Dreamy

I am not quite certain if I am simply immature or if this is a function of being alive but, goodness, I love to dream.

Let the right job posting linger in my inbox and I am off and running. The interview. I can see the interview. The suit that I’m wearing. The subtle confidence I speak with. My first day. Full of smiles and handshakes and an overload of information and a new desk. No, a new office. A spacious one. Success. I can see the success and the accompanying satisfaction. And the paycheck, reasonably plumper; I know how I’ll spend it.

And the location. I wouldn’t move for just any job but the right job – sometimes I’m emailed jobs that strike me as The Perfect Job – and it isn’t here and then I have to picture relocating. Reliance on Skype. Finding a soccer team. Carving out my niche. I am more okay with dreaming that dream than I used to be. It’s less scary, that dream where I land The Perfect Job in a city that is not mine.

Send me on a drive through the right city. There are several nearby. Get me downtown and I am lost. Lost in a dream where I live there. A short walk from downtown. I could run on those sidewalks. I could take yoga at that studio. I could buy a little house, right down that street, and I could paint it blue and it could be all mine. And no matter what happens at least I would live within walking distance of a martini bar.

Allow me to wander through the ballroom at my dad’s country club. I try to avoid it. Because I get all dreamy. The wedding cake would go over there. We’d have the first dance here. I wonder if the macaroni and cheese could be worked into the menu. I love the country club's macaroni and cheese. (It has peas. It's fancy.)

Say the right thing. (The Coach, I’m talking to you.) Say the right thing. Say it at the right time. Just try to shake me out of that dream. Summertime and beyond. Realistic or not. My dreams – and he gives me plenty of reason to dream – drown out my doubts.

Plant the seed. Mention a road trip. I’ll go with it. I’ll dream with you. Mentally, I’ll be at 7-11 buying the essential road trip snack rations before you’ve even finished your sentence. Before you even tell me where you want to go. And maybe I’ll be dreaming about that, too. A road trip to anywhere. Options: endless.

Immature. Human. Whatever. I dream. I love to.

I’m still working on finding the courage to turn my dreams into plans into hard work into reality. And dreaming about how awesome life will get when I do.

2 comments:

Kim said...

Especially with jobs, I have the same type of pattern. If I can't seem to fit myself mentally into the place, I know it's not for me...no matter how good the offer is or how "right" it is. I have to be able to picture myself there before I can contemplate being there.

Teagan B. Sawyer said...

This is EXACTLY what I do.

 
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