Dream The Dreams Only A Dreamer Dreams
I think to myself, I want it all. Then a voice deep within asks, “What does that mean? What do you need that you do not have now?”
Later, after a glass of wine, maybe two, I think, life is too short and there is much left to do. Then my inner voice asks, “What is left to do that you are not doing now?”
The next morning, as I ride the train to work, I feel the weight of my to-do list on my sagging shoulders and fear I will never get through it.
My loving voice suggests, “Why not re-write the list?”
At restaurant, later on that same day while I wait for friend to join me for dinner, I consider my present circumstances, the path I took to arrive at my moment, the detours, and all the roads I did not take.
“Every path we follow is as it should have been. Detours are destiny in drag. No choice is wrong,” my voices, tells me, “Hindsight is like the illusion mirrors found at a circus, and they distort the true accomplishments of the person’s life.”
During the dinner conversation, I listen to my friend as she expresses her regret over a decision she had no choice in making. Her agony having to live through the aftermath, and how the burden she feels having made a choice that was clearly the wrong one, weighs her down.
“We have free will and are seldom compelled to do what we do not want to do,” my inner mind offers. “I concede a person will often make a decision not of their liking, but the reasons for said choice are clear. Compromise is not to be confused with lack of choice. We do what we do because somewhere in our mind, soul, or heart, we decide on a course of action in the minute we are in because that is the best of the worst possible choices.”
As I slip into the cold Egyptian cotton sheets I purchased during the sweltering days of August, I wonder if I will realize the dreams I dream. Will I reach my goals? Will I become what I aspire? Will I shed the doubt that lingers in the shadows, and break free of the imaginary ties that sometimes bind? Will I give love without worry that it may never be returned?
A chuckle shatters the silence in my mind. “You make me laugh, girl. Your dreams are what got you where you are. Until you draw your last breath, you will dream as only a dreamer does. You’re goals change daily, my sweet, as such not all are attainable, but rest assured the ones that matter the most will see the light of day. As for the rest, you are who and what you were meant to be. Your doubt is what pushes you to reach beyond the ordinary. And finally, as for love, girlfriend, when you figure out the answer to that question, you’ll write a bestseller, have a magazine and talk show named after you. Love cannot be measured equally. It's naturally complex, mysterious and intoxicating, illogical, and irreversible once it settles over it's prey-the unsuspecting heart.
At some point, I fall asleep and dream the dreams only a dreamer, like me can dream—or any other writer—of my name big and bold on the bestseller list.
What does your mind tell you, other than stop eating M&N’s.
Loving is Good
Author: Brenda Moguez
Genre: Sweet romance / new adult
Celia Mendoza is not living La Vida Loca. She put her graduate studies on hold after her father died. Now she dishes out advice in her e-zine column, Luna Love, Loving is Good. The problem is, she hasn’t had a second date or a kiss in over a year. Then Gabe Mercer, a modern-day Adonis, shows up, daring her to take a chance. The string of broken hearts in his wake turns Celia off, but his relentless encouragement to pursue her dream of becoming a serious journalist contradicts his reputation, making it hard to fight the pull of his topaz, come-hither eyes. He’s everything Luna Love tells her readers to take a chance on, but Celia can’t decide if a chance encounter is worth the gamble. But life has a will of its own, and hers is pushing Celia to accept the uncertainty and run towards her destiny.
Brenda Moguez lives in San Francisco. She writes fiction with quirky, strong women, with non-formulaic endings because life isn’t always perfect. She writes by the light of the moon and between conference calls. She has aspirations for a fully staffed villa in Barcelona and funding aplenty for a room of her own. When she’s not working on a story, she writes love letters to the universe, dead poets, and Mae West. You can find her at http://www.brendamoguez.com andhttps://www.facebook.com/BrendaMoguez, where she explores passionate pursuits in all its forms.
Barnes and Nobel