A dream is a powerful thing. It can inspire, it can energize, it can illuminate. But unless it mobilizes, well, a dream is just a dream.
Last weekend I was fortunate enough to witness a dear friend’s dream taking flight.
In my family, we have a little something called The Christmas Miracle. It started when I was younger, working in New York, and had a series of rather harrowing trips home to my sister’s house in South Carolina for Christmas. One year my flight was cancelled. Another year, a surprise snowstorm snarled traffic, and my flight took off while I was still in the Midtown Tunnel. Yet another year I went to LaGuardia instead of Newark. Sigh.
Sing it with me, “What a difference a year makes…. 8,760 little hours….”
Sigh.
A year ago today, over the course of about 10 hours, our house flooded from the inside. With damage to about 50% of our home sweet home, Harry and I decided to make lemonade out of lemons and proceed with a remodel that we had planned to do...in about five years.
Tuesday was a day. And I don’t mean just any old day, it was a day, y’all. It put me through the ringer. People I love are going through changes, going through pain, and there is nothing I can do about it. So, I listened and asked questions and comforted and cried and hugged, and when I was alone, I got angry and sad and mad and worried and scared. And then, as is often my way, I retreated to my cave. To my house tucked up in the trees, with no real urge to come down again.
At one time or another, I've been a student, an advertising person, a musician, a writer, an actor, a wife, a mother, a marathon runner, a yoga teacher...sometimes all at once. It's sounds a little schizophrenic, and maybe it is. But it's all I know. When I want to do something, I do it. It's a mishmash, for sure, but it's my mishmash. And my guess is, most of you have a mishmash of your own, too.