Dreams Bigger Than My Body
On approaching a new year, on dreams that surprise us, a strange longing to sail, and the poetry of boats.
“All through our gliding journey, on this day as on so many others, a little song runs through my mind. I say a song because it passes musically, but it is really just words, a thought that is neither strange nor complex. In fact, how strange it would be not to think – not to have such music inside one’s head and body, on such an afternoon. What does it mean, say the words, that the earth is so beautiful?" And what shall I do about it? What is the gift that I should bring to the world? What is the life that I should live?” – Mary Oliver, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings.
As we approach the new year, I’m contemplating (like most of us), what stays, what goes, and what I might dare to dream. Some dreams are old, older than the wind, like the dream of simply resting for a good long time. Other dreams are newer, resurrected like potatoes from a dark soil after many seasons. Some dreams are born from the spicy cauldron of one quick remark at the dinner table with a family member: “You need to buy a lighthouse,” my brother proposed matter of factly. A lighthouse! Well, of course we do, that makes perfect sense. Expansion can happen quickly, as in the latter case (cue fantasies of long walks on a Welsh shore), or very slowly, like an oak that takes its time in becoming. Where might these dreams come from, and how can we use them to navigate a life worth living?
I’m the kind of person whose dreams are, as I once wrote, “bigger than my body”, meaning I’m constantly looking to expand my sense of self and what I’m capable of. This year, I’m gravitating towards both practical dreams, like mastering ever more complicated meals in the kitchen, and dreams of valor. Dreams that require great courage. Dreams that might push me to an edge. Dreams I know will change me. Dreams I’m a little scared of, and could easily shelve for a later potato harvest, the most notable being sailing and entrepreneurialism. Why now? Why sailing? Why sea shanties and a desperate need to be by the ocean? I have a ten month old baby. Sailing. Are you sure?
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