The danger of dreaming

The danger of dreaming

The danger of dreaming

We all dream. After all it’s a very human thing to do. It’s our mind telling us what we want. What we really don’t want. They’re formless, and most of all, not real. You see, dreams are nice. They make us feel good.
A lot of people will also tell you to dare dream. Which is of course good advice. Where else would you get your ideas?
But that’s not the end of it. Your path does not stop at dreaming. It goes further than that. So let me say the following: Fuck dreaming. We’re going further.

Too much have I heard people say things like: “I would once like to do x.” Or “It would be nice if I could do y.” Or “I want to be z.”
Those, are dreams. Stuff people know they want to do, would very much like to do and even crave doing. For some reason, we like to indulge in that. That dreaming. We make our own minds happy, with the thought of the thing we want to do. Because, we’ll do it someday. And life goes on. And we don’t. Ever. Then what use are those dreams? Some kind of placeholder for actual gratification? Or proof of just how afraid we are of taking a step into the unknown? As long as its a dream, you haven’t made the step. Simple as that.

I’ve always been a dreamer myself. I had all these plans and wants lodged into my head. I thought about them constantly. On the road, during school, during work,… But never dared say any of them out loud. Not even when I was the only person in the room. Because, you know, someone else could hear while passing by. And that thought alone was terrifying.
Once someone else knew, it would become real. It wouldn’t be just in my head. It would be an actual, almost tangible thing. That person would expect things of me from then on. And I couldn’t live with that. I knew I would never be able to comply to those expectations.
So there they lingered. Within the confines of my own psyche. Untouched. Pristine. Too good to be true. Until they were.

I got so fed up with myself one day, that I told it to my girlfriend at the time. I blurted it out. Then my face flushed, I began sweating and averted my eyes down.
The following words changed my whole way of thinking: “Then why don’t you?”
I looked up at her. “But I can’t just? You know. Start writing.”
She said: “Why not?”
And I was off. I had no reasons not to. Right then and there I vowed to stop dreaming. And start working. It wasn’t easy. It most likely won’t ever be easy. But I love it. It doesn’t matter to me if I ever get far (Though I will always be aiming to get better), the act in itself is enough. Just living with the fact that I stood up for myself, and my own wants, is enough.

So, repeat after me: “Fuck dreams. I’m making them real.” That’s all there is to it. It’s formless for as long as you allow it to be. It needs work. As you can’t wish it into existence. Set it as your goal. Work towards it. Set milestones. Travel along that path. After all, you’ve chosen it yourself and making it your duty to follow it.

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