A story of dreams, power and life
There’s a cupboard in each of us. A cupboard where we keep all our dreams. We fill it a little bit each time a dream arise in our minds. From early childhood dreams such as being the queen of flowers or living in a tree. To adult-like dream of owning a sport car or going on holidays to a tropical island. All kind of dreams are stocked in this cupboard if there are not coming true. Like fairy tale book which never enters reality.
This is the cupboard of dream. A cupboard I filled with many, many dreams. Most of them, sadly, won’t come true. Obviously my Hogwarts owl never arrived and I’m not Esmeralda (NB). But the others? What happened to all my plans and awesome future?
It seems that at some point I closed my cupboard of dreams. Not only the cupboard is now closed but the key also disappeared. I see all my dreams behind the window and contemplate the possibilities they offer me and dip into the contemplation of “what if”. Closed, they are out of reach. But bookworm will understand me when I say just looking at books make me feel good, just thinking about my dreams make me live them.
Lately the contemplation became frustrating. I reach a point where I felt I had to go ahead, either leaving these fool dreams behind or making them true. To live my life. And feel fulfilled. So I gave much more attention to my cupboard of dreams. How, could I open it? Where was the damn key of dreams realization gone?
For long I thought the key had been taken away by “people“, “society“, “expectation“, “realism“. I thought that if I couldn’t be a fashion designer it was because I wasn’t talented enough, as my dad said. So I started digging to find that key. Did my dad keep the key of my fashion designer dream? No, my dad does want my happiness. He wouldn’t hide it from me. I chose to hide to do it myself. Because he said that I might fail trying to make this dream come true. So I closed the dream, to avoid it breaking from encountering reality.
I was here. In front of this big, big cupboard. Thinking that the key was never taken away by “people”, “society”, “expectation”, “realism”. I had decided to hide it. To avoid breaking dreams. To avoid going out of my comfort zone. To avoid looking like a fool. To fit what I thought was expected from me (yes, it is a big thing in me, I am working on it). So little me, in front of this huge, huge cupboard full of dream, reachable but closed. Thinking about opening it.
I knew where the key was. “Just” a matter of fighting fears of disappointing, failing, trying, efforts. “Just” a question of not looking back in 5, 10, 50 years wondering what I have done with my life. And between those two frightening visions I chose the first one. Because this life is probably the only one I’ll have. And it is the only one I have now. I’d better make the most of it. I kicked my ass and found the key. It wasn’t hidden far. Just between the piles of lack of confidence, behind the impostor syndrome. Opening this cupboard was hard. Talking about my dreams like a kid, freely, without judgement was not easy.
But now they are free to go in the wild. I have the key to them. The key to take them out and make them real. I’m excited and nervous.
NB: even if I’ll probably never attend magic classes or live as a bohemian, I swear magic is all around me and I am living a kind of nomadic life.