Only Dreams

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light;
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- W. B. Yeats

I'm getting big into dreams lately.

I have had so many that I've suppressed for so long. As soon as I gave up on suppressing and started pursuing dreams, support and opportunities starting popping up all over the place.

I don't know how often our culture quotes that Albert Einstein — the man who established most of our most important mathematics — but I do know we hardly ever take the man at his word.

I recently asked a bartender what her dream was. She said she dreams of having her own place, her own bar.

I asked her what it would be called. "I haven't thought about that."

I asked her what the theme would be. "I haven't thought about that."

I asked her what music she would play. "I haven't thought about that."

I asked her how she would decorate it. "I haven't thought about that."

I asked her, in 17 years of bartending, what has she envisioned when she thinks of her own place.

"I haven't thought about that," she said again. "I'm more of a realist."

That is no dream.

Our imaginations seem so frail, so fearful.
What's holding us back? Potential disappointment?
What's the alternative? Assured disappointment?
Who taught us to fear disappointment in the first place?

It's a strange phenomenon, this mad addiction to controllable and measurable. What does it gain us? A nation full of angsty adults doing anything for the fleeting feeling of having meaning.

But what is the answer? What is the solution? Regrettably, it is so simple that it offends most; I do not think I can even speak of it without dispelling the hopeful hunger in your ears, so I will let you linger.
And I will hope with you.
And I will hope for you.