Growing up, I always believed I had a pretty big imagination. I dreamed big. I dreamed small. I dreamed here. I dreamed there. I dreamed. I had so much to dream about, I couldn’t just do it at night. I dreamed all throughout the day as well. My imagination was full of things to dream about. And even now, I still tend to believe that not only is my imagination big, but it is also vivid, painting stories and beautiful scenes across my mind. For the most part, I have been very appreciative and thankful to have such an imagination. I pity the poor souls without one.

But in recent months, I have noticed something strange happening. As I peer into the depths of my imagination, I find closed doors, empty rooms, and a broken carousel projecting neither light nor sound. What is this desolate place in which I now stand?

So that we don’t get too confused while standing inside my metaphor, I’ll give you an example. Sometime during my last years in high school, I came up with this grand plan for my future, or to be more exact, a grand plan fell on my head. I dreamed a beautiful dream of becoming the owner of the bakery to end all bakeries. I could see it in my head, grand and innovative. And as I progressed through graduation and on through college, I found that dream growing with fervor and excitement. Quite literally, any time I sat and thought about it, I wiggled with excitement. This was my future. This was my aim. This was my dream and I was going to go and get it.

Emphasis on the word “was”.

It only took a few months. Just a few stinkin’ weeks post-graduation for my dream to be stuffed in a box, taped up and shoved under my bed. What caused me to take such a drastic action, you ask? This weird thing people call the “real-world”. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t subscribe to this theology that you have to settle in life. In fact, I’m dead-set against it. Don’t settle. Never settle. Get what you want in life.

So what happened to me? Did I settle?

Oh dear friend, no. I did nothing of the sort. When I say the real world burst into my life, I mean exactly that. I had plans and dreams. I was headed somewhere and then something tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “But first…” It was just a little but-first, just a little to-do that I needed to handle before I continued onward, I thought. And just like that my dream was pushed aside by a never-ending list of but-firsts.

And even as other dreams began to dance before my eyes, I remained committed to my but-firsts, taking those new dreams and shoving them under my bed just like the other.  Before I knew it my dreams became nuisances and stressors in my new, but-first lifestyle.

The crazy thing, though, about dreams stuffed under the bed is that they sort of take on the role of a monster. And like any kid will tell you, monsters eventually come out from under the bed. Mine are starting to do just that, haunting me and reminding me of things I have almost forgotten. But unlike a kid, I feel a strange tinge of excitement to meet them again. While their presence continues to bring me stress and anxiety, their resurgence also gives me hope.

I cannot say how I will proceed from this point. Ideally, I will reopen my dream boxes and began my trek towards them once again, but I know myself. I know as soon I finish typing these words, a but-first will appear and give some extremely complex reason why it must come first. And I will once again push my dream boxes to the side. I write this post to hold myself accountable and to encourage you to do the same.

Don’t turn your back on your dreams (especially for the sake of the “real-world”). Moreover, don’t turn your side on them either. Sometimes your peripherals are not as 20/20 as you would like to believe. Things that are not in front of you tend to be forgotten. Let’s work together to pursue our dreams. Let’s stop ignoring what we want to do for the sake of what we are currently doing or should be doing.

K.J. 3/28/2017