A Quiet Dream
I knew way back in the seventh grade I wanted to be a writer, but it never honestly occurred to me that such a thing was really possible. I don’t think any of my teachers ever thought I had it in me either, but that’s another story. I believe one of the reasons I kept my desire to write a secret was because it seemed to be too farfetched of a fantasy for a barefoot, country girl like me to ever accomplish such a thing.
Even though I never spoke about wanting to be a writer to my family they had to see the writing on the wall. I don’t know how many times I forced them into reading my poems and short stories, but even back then a compliment or simple acknowledgement was enough to keep my quiet dream alive. It’s just as important today as it was back then for someone to tell me they enjoy my stories.
Age only reinforces my belief that dreams keep us going when our lives become too cumbersome or unfulfilling. Everyone needs something that only belongs to them and no one else. Mine is writing. The words belong to me and I only share them, if I want to share them. My dream keeps me going when life becomes too dreary and everything else is just a boring chore. If I have any advice at all to give, it’s to find a dream of your own. Discover a passion. It may save you when nothing else can.