Dreams vs. Realities

Last night I dreamt that I was running. I was intensely focused and all I could hear was my own breathing and my feet hitting the pavement as scenery moved by, neither interesting or important but merely a backdrop. It was so real I could almost taste the air and the sweat beading on my upper lip, and I could feel myself pushing forward, always toward making each step count, always toward improvement. I was in the zone of a good hard run when nothing matters but putting one foot in front of the other and not losing focus, always pushing. I haven't experienced it in real life for some time now, since I have been plagued with one injury after another since July, and the pain in my toe is especially persistent. The dream was so real I woke up smiling and almost felt the content and accomplishment I would have felt if it had been. Which only makes me more sad that I'm not running these days. That was when I used to do all of my good thinking. I would ponder the world and my future between intense periods of highly tuned focus. Now I hardly have time to think between all the working and basketball games that are occupying all my extra time. I think I felt that I needed something else to obsess over, something to take my mind off of the lack of running. I feel it every day though, that desire to get out there and push my body to its limit. The desire to really do something, make things a little harder so everything can feel that much more deserved. The desire to be by myself with my thoughts and the wind at my heels.

Lately most of my thinking hasn't even been while I'm alone. It's been with a friend. He started off as my running buddy, a customer who came into my job, sat at the end of the bar and started talking to me while I rolled silverware. There are many such people, but he and I bonded almost instantly over our love of running, and made plans to start running together a few weeks later. He made good conversation on our runs, always asking a lot of questions and somehow getting me to feel comfortable enough to answer. He was always digging deeper, asking me to better explain myself or why I thought that or felt a certain way. Even though I haven't run for about a month now we still hang out, and it's very much the same. He asks a lot of questions and always gets me to go into further detail, forcing me to think about why I say the things I say and getting to the root of my beliefs and shedding light on the underlaying thoughts that I take for granted now and very rarely notice anymore.

Tonight we talked a lot about money, and what we would do if we were rich. He wanted a race car and a boat and to be able to see things he can't see now and do things he can't do. I told him I didn't want to be rich. Ever. I wanted the things I need and a few of the things I love and nothing more. He asked me to explain myself. He seemed surprised. I told him I think money adds value to too many things that shouldn't matter at all, and I'd rather have less because it makes me feel more free. I'm able to focus more on the things that matter to me. And then he asked a very big question, one that I realized I should really do more thinking on because it was extremely hard for me to answer. What is most important to me?

A lot of things came to mind right away; love, happiness, family, connections, finding the meaning of life, but they all seemed like sort of generic answers that didn't really express me and what I really personally value, what drives me, what will always draw me in. Learning, knowledge, creativity and self expression were things that I could actually pinpoint, along with making an impact on the world, both on the people I know and love and on the rest of the world, be it balancing out all the bad with a little good and trying to make a small difference or really creating something big that can influence people I don't even come into contact with, which is pretty much the driving force behind the dream of becoming a real author someday. I know I will always dream of making something that will change the world, something that will be valued and loved and respected and make people think and open up to new possibilities and change their way of thinking and inspire passion within them, and because it's such a lasting and powerful dream of mine I might even say it is the most important thing to me. I don't think anything would ever make me happier than that. Learning, knowledge, creativity and self expression are all things that I value, but I think because they are tools that I can use, setting aside and preparing, building on them bit by bit, more knowledge, more creativity, gradually pulling together all I will need to make a masterpiece. I want them because they will help me get what I really really want. How can I write an awe-inspiring novel without the knowledge to inspire? I value all the struggles that I go through because I see them as beneficial experiences that will help me when it's time. 

But if it all boils down to that why am I waiting? Why aren't I writing feverishly day in and day out and constantly working toward the end goal? Fear? Of failure maybe? Probably. Now I'm just going to think of all the times I conquer my fear as steps that get me closer. Next step: Conquer fear of writing and of failure and just do it. Let go.