When Your Dream Turns Into a Nightmare

When Your Dream Turns Into a Nightmare

I gathered my courage and told myself words I don’t ever remember ever hearing; “you can be whatever you want” and “this life is what you make it”. I convinced myself.

I did away with all those things they told me I needed to be. I was not made for a man. I have no interest in spending years inside the four walls of a collage. I will forge my own way, I will choose another path.

I made the perfect plan. I slaved and saved and invested. And then I rode on hope and waited, as the weeks turned to months and the months turned into a year. It will be a year next month.
My suitcase has been packed and sitting in the corner. I visit it often. I unpack, repack and pack again. Revisiting hope, cleaning the dust off what I dared to dream. Dared to risk. Dared to put my everything into.

I’ve been clinging to this hope like I did my first lover. But just like him, this dream is slipping through my fingers. I clench onto what I can; “I will not let this go!”
But today I let myself feel it… all the doubt and the cynicism that I’ve been blocking out for oh so long.Today I unpacked my suitcase and cried. Because I’m starting to think the dream was to good to be true. And because the words I wrote on my initial Airstream blog post “I never imagined my life could be so beautiful”, may turn out to be just that; imagined.
I’ve been calling, txting, leaving messages… checking my phone like a desperate lover. But my hope is dwindling, and winter is on its way. I feel helpless and defeated.

Today I said “God, really? Really?!” Because this is about more then traveling. This is this about faith and purpose and justice. For too long I have been a victim of circumstances, and this was my way out. This was my one hope, my double portion for all the sacrifices that were made.
The last time I dared to want something this much I just was a child. But I remember how it felt… and I remember how it consumed me. I practiced plie’s and pirouette everyday for hours. I fell asleep each night flexing my feet. And every time I walked into a dance studio, I got this sacred, magic feeling… like anything was possible, like I was who I was suppose to be.

But that dream became a sacrifice to satisfy a selfish god. A god I no longer believe ever existed. Still it took me years to come to this conclusion, and even longer to find something else I felt so strongly about. Of course it would be in opposition to the thing that caused so much pain in the first place. Of course it could only be freedom.

The God I believe in now is one who gives. Beauty and love and new dreams to those offended.

The Airstream was the answer to so many of my questions: A way to travel, a means for income, a way to build community, a place to settle when I’m done traveling.

If this falls though it will be 2 years of my life wasted. And though I will still have the van, I will also have a hefty loan payment with no rental unit to pay it off.

And what of dreams? And what of faith? I have no clue what I will do.

Yet still, I would rather risk it all, then to go back to a life without meaning and purpose.

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