We’ve all had at least one dream or desire at some point in our life. Maybe it was to get a new video game, become famous, win the lottery or stay on a bull for longer than eight seconds.
Dreams are supposed to make us happy and give us goals to achieve. But as wonderful as they are, it isn’t always easy to pursue them. Sometimes their grandeur makes them seem unreachable, and they dry up like an un-watered garden during a summer drought.
So how do we remember and realize what it is that we truly want out of life? Where do we get the strength?
Several years ago when I lived in Chicago, I did a lot of soul searching to determine what in the world it was that Jacques Couvillon was supposed to be doing. I had just completed my Masters in business, and had a job in marketing. Two goals I’d worked for many years to achieve, but upon reaching didn’t satisfy me.
So I took a few night classes to spice up my week of conservative boredom. One of these was an acting class that I hoped would make me a better public speaker or get me a gig playing opposite of Susan Lucci on the soap opera, All My Children.
One night in the class, the teacher made us sit on the floor in a circle in the middle of the room. She gave each of the students an ink pen and a small sheet of colored construction paper, and asked us to write down five things that we wanted out of life.
This was harder than it sounds because although I had often thought about things that I wanted, I had never dared to write them down. They were dreams that had called out to me, but also seemed so far fetched that they both frightened and saddened me.
But I was in the class to discover myself, so I dug deep down into my sub-conscious and pulled out past dreams. Some of them were no longer desirable, like a new video game or staying on a bull for eight seconds. Others were still bright and shiny, like becoming a writer and living in New York City.
When we were finished with our list, the teacher told us to tear up the little colored sheets of paper, and throw them into a pile in the middle of the room. She then put her hand in the dreams, and stirred them around until they mixed together like a bag of confetti.
“I want each of you to grab some paper,” she said. “You now have other people’s dreams in your hand. What are you going to do with them?”
I couldn’t understand what she was asking. All that was in my hand were little pieces of paper with torn up words and sentences like, “rich,” “movie deal,” and “hot wife”.
For a week, the pieces of paper sat on my desk, next to a family picture, a jar filled with change and an old brown bottle that had once held root beer. I didn’t know what to do with the dreams because I didn’t understand how I could really control anyone else’s destiny if I couldn’t control my own.
The next week in acting class, one of the students brought in a small piece of wood about the size of a shoebox lid. She’d glued all of her pieces of paper on the front of it and called it her, “Dream Plaque.”
“I’m going to hang it on my living room wall so I’ll always be able to see it,” she said. “It’s going to help me remember to always have dreams.”
Although the dream plaque didn’t really match my sofa or any of the furniture in my apartment, I had a lot of respect for the woman. Her action inspired me to not only let myself have dreams, but to also prevent them from disappearing from sight.
When I got home that evening, I looked for a secure place for my handful of dreams. I wasn’t sure what to do with them yet, but wanted to protect them. They were not only a part of me, but also of the other students.
The old brown root beer bottle on my desk seemed to be the best place for the pieces of paper until I could figure out how to help other people achieve their dreams. That day came months later when I started actively pursuing my own.
I’d decided to start writing, and began spending a lot of time at my desk. But getting the words from my head down onto a page was a painful process. I often found my mind and hands wandering to any and everything besides the story I was trying to tell.
So I’d pick up the bottle and shake the dreams around hoping that inspiration would magically appear and give me the strength to write hundreds, even thousands of beautiful stories. But the most that ever happened was that one night the light bulb on my desk lamp burnt out.
For a moment I sat there, irritated, tired and in the dark. It seemed to be a sign that writing wasn’t a dream to be pursued, and that I would never be able to help some poor guy find his rich, hot wife.
A few minutes later, I searched for a replacement bulb for my desk lamp, but found nothing but a long, thin red candle. I used the root beer bottle of dreams as a holder and then lit the wick. Wax dripped down slowly until it reached my desk, and inspiration began to light the room.
It has been over ten years since that night, but I still have the bottle of dreams, and still burn candles in it whenever I write. There are layers of multi-colored wax on the glass, but I can still see the little pieces of paper inside.
Although I don’t practice magic or witchcraft, burning the candle has made me a believer of positive thinking. It took several years, but each of the dreams I wrote down on that little piece of paper, came true. This happened because I actively pursued them, but most importantly, because I remembered and realized what it was that I wanted.
Despite our age, there are things we all desire in life. By taking the time to write them down and make them visible, we will find direction towards fulfillment. By remembering and realizing our dreams, we will find strength.
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