Today's topic: Dreams.
My friend Kara Killmer is in a new reality show that premiered today on Hulu called If I Can Dream. She's living in a house in L.A. with 4 other people, each of whom is trying to "make it" as an actor, model, or musician. If you get a chance, check it out. Kara's the really nice blonde actress (not the other blonde actress).
Anyway, seeing Kara's premiere got me thinking about my own life, and what it is that I want to do with it. What is it that will make me happy? What am I hoping to achieve that will make me feel as if I've "made it"?
I think people too often pigeonhole themselves into thinking of dreams as purely career-based aspirations. Most folks I know would say they dream of becoming doctors, actors, teachers, pilots, you name it, but if you ask them what their dreams are for their souls, their relationships, their minds, and their broader experiences, you'll see the same wide-eyed, panicked expression I always got when a teacher exposed my lack of attention in class with a pointed question like, "Mr. Wittekiend, Belmopan is the capital of...?"
Why is this the case? Do we not consider these areas of our lives worth dreaming over? Are we frightened by the kind of honest self-evaluation that is called for when we expand our dreams to include the subjective, the abstract?
If we root our dreams in earning titles and accolades, we make ourselves vulnerable to disappointment and bitterness when the world decides that we don't make the cut in X area and never will for Y and Z reasons. That's not to say that we shouldn't have goals for our working lives or seek to attain greatness; these are wonderful pursuits. They're just not a valid basis for a conception of personal success. A person is more than the sum of their assets. The kinds of people that are fondly remembered after their passing are those that love life and pursue joy wherever it may be found. The world will see more Fortune 500 business moguls, more superstar lawyers, more beloved celebrities. My future children will never have another father. My parents will (most likely) never have another child. My place in this world is a unique one. I feel these burdens every day, and I thank God for them because they inspire me to constantly improve myself.
I'm going to wax autobiographical for the third time this week and delineate my own dreams for you, my tiny audience.
I dream of being the kind of man of whom others will say, "He tells the best stories!"
I dream of visiting every continent. (Well, every continent where sane people live. This excludes Antarctica. You can keep that one, penguins.)
I dream of finding beauty in something or someone that everyone else had given up on.
I dream of anonymously donating a large sum of money to a charity and being a strong enough person to take the secret to my grave.
I dream of reading all those books I always told myself I would.
I dream of being a hero. It doesn't matter to me what form that takes.
I dream of finally balancing a stable self-image and interdependence with a woman I love.
I dream of tithing.
I dream of becoming a semi-famous actor. Sure, it's selfish and petty. But partly I just want to prove that you can succeed in theatre without being a total jerk or selling your soul.
I dream of being able to do the Sunday crossword in the New York Times.
I dream of regularly reading the New York Times.
I dream of forgetting my mistakes but remembering the lessons I learned from them.
I dream of writing a handful of songs that I would actually listen to, or a couple of poems that I don't hate.
I'm not going to ask myself to achieve all of the above. That's what makes them dreams. They're whimsical. They're things that are difficult (for me, at least), things to strive for. The day I run out of dreams is the day I forsake my humanity.
Listening to: Blink-182
Reading: Random theatre history books
No comments:
Post a Comment