I cried because I feel like I'm letting the little girl, who had such big dreams, down. She was determined to get out of that "one horse town" and become somebody. She was going to make a name for herself and change the world. I wanted to make a difference and I'm feeling like I haven't done half of what that young girl hoped for. Her dreams were so big...she wanted to write books and make a name for herself...to be her own woman, independent and strong. She didn't want to need people. She wanted people to be in her life because she wanted them there, not because she had to rely on others.
It's funny how Life can take our hopes and dreams, twist them around, and make them seem impossible. I mean, c'mon, I don't remember wanting to be a princess. I wanted to marry a man just like my dad. I was gonna be a woman just like my mom, except with the addition of the writing thing. I was going to have a big house in the woods with 5 kids and 20 dogs. My author name was going to be HUGE!
And this is where I feel like I'm disappointing that little girl in the big farmhouse who had dreams of making her way in this world. My muse has left me and I have no idea how to start writing again. I'm afraid I will never write another word in any of my works in progress. And if I do finish a book, publish it, etc., no one will ever want to read it. My anxiety and fear take over and I can't catch my breath.
A while back I wrote a quick poem/story about searching for the little girl who was still inside, suffocating on the lack of dreams the adult version refused to believe in. I cried as I wrote it because I had laid all of my dreams aside for others. I pushed everything aside in order to make sure others got to pursue their dreams.
I do remember her: she splashed in mud puddles, danced in the rain, played in the fields, sat under a willow tree and dreamed of the future. I still see her idealistic idea of what love and relationships looked like and how they lasted forever.
The adult version is so far off from that little girl's dream. The craziness and monotony of life has a way of stripping away the rose hue that colors our world as children.
Maybe it is time to go dance in the rain again, splash through a mud puddle without worrying about ruining my shoes, and believe in that forever love. (I'm told it exists!) And get back to dreaming those BIG dreams again! Maybe even make a few come true!
A while back I wrote a quick poem/story about searching for the little girl who was still inside, suffocating on the lack of dreams the adult version refused to believe in. I cried as I wrote it because I had laid all of my dreams aside for others. I pushed everything aside in order to make sure others got to pursue their dreams.
I do remember her: she splashed in mud puddles, danced in the rain, played in the fields, sat under a willow tree and dreamed of the future. I still see her idealistic idea of what love and relationships looked like and how they lasted forever.
The adult version is so far off from that little girl's dream. The craziness and monotony of life has a way of stripping away the rose hue that colors our world as children.
Maybe it is time to go dance in the rain again, splash through a mud puddle without worrying about ruining my shoes, and believe in that forever love. (I'm told it exists!) And get back to dreaming those BIG dreams again! Maybe even make a few come true!
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