When my ex walked out the door, he took my dreams with him.
He carried out the trips we had planned over dinners and walks, running over them with his car until they were but black marks on the street.
He hefted the retirement daydreams onto his back and launched them in the dumpster as he drove away.
The house plans and projects were sent through the shredder before being addressed to the incinerator.
He even stuffed his pockets with the small yearnings, the desire to grow old together and to watch our world evolve.
He took it all.
The first dreams I built were solo dreams – a desire to see the Smithsonian (done!) and a commitment to take time to play more (check!). I couldn’t look too far ahead nor could I trust that another would be there. So I kept the dreams small and close or vague enough to adjust to whatever reality presented.
Even once married, I found myself tentative to speak of long-range plans. Hesitant to believe in lofty dreams. It was though by not speaking them or even thinking them, I avoided tempting fate. Prevented a thief from yet again raiding my hopes and dashing my dreams.
This weekend I didn’t just tempt fate, I seduced her. On a quiet weekend away, Brock and I spent hours discussing thoughts and desires for retirement, speaking our dreams and discussing our plans of how to make it happen. We spoke of homes and trips. Pensions and deductions. As we continued to talk and refine our ideas, I found excitement slowly replacing my ambivalence. It felt amazing to believe in a future again. To take steps and share visions.
And to believe that not every wish is stolen before it can come true.
I was able to make that wish in a very special way this weekend. After struggles with horrible vision for most of my life, new lenses and a small, dark town allowed me to see the stars for the first time in twenty years. Never say never.