Wow
One night, about a year ago, I decided to quit dreaming.
Every day, every night, for 20 years, the dream was exactly the same – same props, same characters, same outcome. I could picture all of it with vivid clarity, but the fantasy never survived the transition from sleep to the real here and now. It burned up on re-entry. It lived only in the ether of my mind.
In the dream, I was an author. I wrote books. I spent my days on safari in my own imagination. I was satisfied. I was doing what I loved for a living, and that contentment permeated every hard, dark corner of my existence. Then suddenly I was awake again, and the reality that I was NOT the person in my dream washed over me like rain cloud.
So one night, about a year ago, I decided to quit dreaming. I sat down at my keyboard and began to write. I began to create the trappings of my dream in real life.
It has been the hardest year of my writing life. Rejection has reigned. Every small victory has been countered by enormous disappointment and despair. I have neglected friendships, responsibilities, family obligations. Phone calls and emails have gone unreturned. I have opened my soul to criticism, and I have convinced myself that this is my last best chance to accomplish something for myself – to escape the rut of cubicle jobs, financial desperation and career aimlessness.
Thursday morning, my agent called from New York.
“You have a book deal,” she said.
Just like that, the dream became real.
Just like that, my life changed direction.
It has taken me three days to come to terms with what has happened. I have shared the news with family and friends, and although their expressions of pride and joy have filled my spirit, the accomplishment didn’t seem real to me. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to me. I’m just a copywriter. I’m not accustomed to achievement or satisfaction or…winning.
I did it. I actually fucking did it.
I wonder what I'll dream about next.