When I was young, I dreamt of falling in love someday. And then one day, I did.
And when we were in college, we dreamt of having our own place someday and starting our lives together, as adults on our own. And then one day, we did. Our first apartment was tiny, and we furnished it with hand-me-downs and thrift store finds, but it was ours. Soon, though, I began dreaming of our wedding… and of a bigger place… and of new furniture from a real furniture store… and of having kids…
And then, one day, we moved into a bigger apartment. Two bedrooms and two bathrooms! And a pool! And we bought nicer stuff to fill it with. And we got married. And baby number 1 arrived.
The next dream? Owning our first home.
Eventually, it happened. We moved into our first house (not a second-floor apartment!) All of the bedrooms and bathrooms and garage and yard and attic and basement… it was all ours.
But soon, I began dreaming of more babies. And we grew out of that house, so I dreamt of a bigger house.
Two more babies came, but during those early years, I dreamt of a day when I’d sleep again. And when the diaper days were over and everyone used the potty. And when we could go places without lugging a stroller and 900 bags of snacks, cups, wipes, toys, and backup underwear.
Of course, that day came.
They’re teens and a tween now. We have a big house that fits everyone and their friends. But it’s already happened again—the dreams. Dreams of ripping up the old carpet and repainting the walls and renovating this dated space or replacing that old couch.
But also, I caught myself recently dreaming of what’s next after that too—a smaller place, less square footage to take care of, fewer floors to clean and surfaces to wipe.
Only that means the kids will be gone, and I don’t dream of that.
I have realized that throughout my life, I was “living the dream” so many times and probably didn’t see it. As soon as I fell in love, or had my first apartment, or had my first baby, or moved into my first home, the next dream began to form.
And while dreaming can be exciting and provide something hopeful to think about, I regret that I didn’t always stop to enjoy living in the moment more—appreciating that I was, already, living my dream each time.
Now that my kids are older and we’re talking about college and what comes next for them (and for me), I suddenly dream of freezing time. Of slowing down this ride so I have more days, weeks, months, years, of them here, in this big old house with our stained carpet and leaky windows.
Unfortunately, the ability to stop time is one dream I won’t fulfill. But at least I can recognize this little life I’m living—right now—for what it is.
I’m living all my dreams, and for that, I’m grateful. 🩷
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