self-destructing

I have wondered lately where the line between dreams and reality is. If the line is blurred, or even possibly disintegrated altogether, then does that make life a dream? Or does that make a sad and dreamless life?

If one achieves all of the hopes and dreams, do more come? Is life content? Is it even a possible accomplishment?

These thoughts, in a way, are honestly depressing. I am a big dreamer, and I feel as though I sometimes have to pick and choose what future versions of myself and my life I want to focus on because they cannot all be true at the same time.

I dream of being a writer/creative in a big city.

I dream of a simple life, maybe on the coast or in the country.

And, in many ways, I have dreamed of my life right now: in a normal town working as a barista living in a sweet little apartment with an amazing boyfriend and our sweet puppy. I remember dreaming about cooking together in our first apartment and how I would decorate it.

I dreamt that, yet I continue to dream.

Does attempting to define dreaming take away the value and whimsical nature of it? Does dreaming, at the root, keep us alive and excited, even if not achieved at the end of the day? As cheesy as it sounds, is dreaming less about the dream (the outcome) and more about the journey? Maybe I need to read The Alchemist again… haha

If that is the case then I am not enjoying this journey enough. I am not celebrating the smaller dreams-come-true nearly enough. I self-destruct my journey now out of worry of disappointment, wasted potential, and wasted time.

I don’t think it is a bad thing to dream, and I don’t think I could ever actually stop dreaming even if I really wanted to, but I need to view it in a positive light, rather than anxious.

Focusing on the journey and the destination.