It all sounds so romantic when they say it, when you read their books and they speak about it, not knowing that that would one day be your dream. Living it is a nightmare, punctuated by anxiety induced hysterics of,”Out of all the potential you have, this is what it has culminated into?”. The pursuit of a dream is an act of dying daily, breathing the only reminder that, nope, you are still alive, and every bit of this hell you’re going through is not the one they preach about in church.
Speaking of, you haven’t been to church in a while because, one pain at a time. It is hard enough bearing the pain of disappointing yourself, you don’t wanna look God in the eye and mumble,”I’m still working on it”. He understands, of course He does, but you don’t, neither do your dreams and your best-laid plans. Are you trying hard enough, is the depression giving you enough room to breathe?Do you still know the meaning of a miracle?
Do you still know the meaning of a miracle?
So, you wake up the next day, with your confidence dwindling, and life not giving you enough reason to go on, and something happens. A line, a paragraph, or a whole chapter, and you feel like you just changed the world. It may not be Iron Man’s suit or Captain America’s shield, but you feel that life has thrown you a lifeline, there’s a figure of speech in there somewhere. Your dreams look at you, hope in their eyes, and you muster up enough courage to look them in the eye as you try to stay afloat.
Try to hide the fear of drowning, try not to spend too much time with the fear of anything, it is a trap.
I have since resigned myself to dying poor, this is a conversation like one between lovers, that I have with my soul.
“If we’re gonna survive, the dream must stay alive.”