I dream about a woman. I have visions of the person she will one day become. The life she will look back upon. The stories she will tell her grandchildren.
That woman is me – the me I want to be. The one who is on a journey towards becoming the person I’d like to one day become.
And I’m ready to meet her.
It isn’t that I don’t like the person I am. I do. I like me quite a bit. But for many years, I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about the woman I’d like to be, and very little time being her.
For strangely enough, the woman of my dreams is not the world’s greatest Spider Solitaire player, despite all the time and effort I’ve devoted towards that laudable goal.
In fact, the woman of my dreams isn’t the world’s greatest anything.
She is just an ordinary person. One who bravely sits in the driver’s seat of her own life, instead of being a mere passenger who watches the scenery of her life pass by.
So why do I spend so much time thinking about this woman, instead of being her?
Granted, “fear” was not my first answer to that question.
Or my second.
In fact, I have hundreds of creative answers that I give myself for why I’m not being that woman.
But “fear” is the honest one.
Fear of failure.
For if I never try to be that woman, I never have to worry that I might try, and fail.
Instead, I can sit safely in the passenger seat of my own life and dream about the woman I could have been, the life I could have lived, the stories I could have told my grandchildren, if only…
However, I believe that we are who we choose to be.
I’m forty-four, and I’ve been sitting in the passenger seat too long. Not because I had to, but because I chose to.
I am exactly the person I chose to be – a person who dreams about the woman she’d like to be.
But I’ve decided to stop dreaming about that woman. I’m no longer going to tell myself fantastic stories about her.
Instead, I’m going to meet her.
Even if, in the end, she turns out not to be who I’ve always dreamt she would be, but is, instead, someone else altogether.