Dreaming Bright and Loud (because it's my birthday)

Dreams.
From birth we're told how we need to have them, how any are possible, how lovely they are. And that's lovely, but what about when you don't have a dream?


Until recently, that was me.
I had a dream. A very big dream. It yawned over me, full of possibility, when I was about 8 years old.
I was going to be a marine mammologist. I was gonna study the behavior and language of wild orca whales in the Puget Sound.

I was in love with this dream, and everyone else was, too. I got orca things for birthdays. I dined with Shamu at Sea World. I interviewed dozens of colleges until I found one that allowed undergrads to actively research in marine bio. And I went there.


And then...life.

It turns out, you can't make a dream come true by wanting it badly enough.
You also have to pass Oceanography. And Chemistry. You have to be stronger than the distractions around you, and more stubborn than the realization that you are no a tiny wee fish in a huge-ass pond.
My dream crashed and burned within two years. It was depressing, and I was lost for a long, long time.

I tried to fill that empty piece of me with other dreams- with romances, and friendships, and fandoms, and hobbies. But ultimately, that hole became a part of my identity.
I had a second shot at my original dream, three years ago. There was a program, at UW, and my work was paying for it. And I went, and I studied, and I knew- I KNEW- this time, I would make it work.


And then....life.


I got laid off, unexpectedly and suddenly, and I couldn't afford to continue going to graduate school.
And then I found out, from professors and professionals, that there is no more behavioral research of wild orcas. They're protected, and that's good, but also all the relevant work on that has been done.
So that dream was cauterized right as it started growing again.


I thought that being dream-less must be my new norm. Maybe everyone has one big dream, and if that dies, that's it.


And then....Fedora.


His passion for utilizing space ignited my desire to organize everything.
And he has a dream, small and patient, that I had never considered possible. Not with all my college debts. And yet....he's inspired me to dream again. And it's a like lighter fluid on a spark- I have a timeline, I have a plan, and my dreams is full of lovely, lively things.



I want a tiny house, where we use space effectively and creatively...





I want 4 chickens, in a sweet mobile coop like this, that I can rotate around the yard...


And a sweet little garden, with kale and onions and garlic and all the things I eat year-round.


This dream is, of course, years down the line. First thing is to pay off my college/car accident/hospital/bad ex-boyfriend debt. And then set aside money for a tiny house, which will probably be around $60,000 (plus land purchase cost). And find and buy a parcel of land for the house and garden, somewhere nearby.


Still...it's nice to have a dream again.

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