inanimate objects

Can I tell you something? When I was little... I used to dream about becoming a famous singer like Britney Spears. And although the little me-- didn't know that would eventually mean becoming sort of crazy and shaving off all my hair at one point-- I fully believed that I would become whatever I dreamed.

Then I dreamed that I would become a famous writer one day. And that dream, my friends, has stuck with me for most of life. I love writing. I love words. And I love the way those words fit on a page and create life out of something that has long been lifeless. From the beautiful tree, to the piece of wood it was chopped into, and then to the lifeless and plain box of paper it was turned into. No one would believe that box of paper was once alive, but it was once a PART of life. I like to think it remembers what it feels like to breath and exist.  So when our words spread across its surface it begins to breath and exist again in the words of our stories and suddenly it happens-- life exists again.

And so--- in the wise words of the Lion King--it is the circle of life. To live and die. I started to wonder (especially after my embarrassing Britney Spears confession) how many times our dreams live. And die. And then receive new life again, in new dreams or refocused passions.

I feel like some of my dreams have died along the way... more than just the dreams of becoming a rock star like Britney. Just like that box of paper that yearns for the pulse of life again... I can feel it pushing inside my chest. My dreams. They want so much to come out and live again, but somehow I'm afraid to let them live for fear of them dying.

I feel so confused about what I want right now. And I've tried to be patient and just let time settle over me... but the truth is. The more time that passes, the more pressure I have in my chest from the dream chasers inside of me. They are pushing me different directions, they contradict one other, are halfway around the world from one another, and also right next door. If I let them live, could I withstand the pain of seeing them die? I don't really know the answer to that question. Maybe I'll just hang a dream catcher over my bed and call it a night.