Living The Dream

What we need is right here, when we are done wishing for what we don't have.

“There is a Beautiful Creature
Living in a hole you have dug.

So at night
I set fruit and grains
And little pots of wine and milk
Beside your soft earthen mounds,

And I often sing.

But still, my dear,
You do not come out.

I have fallen in love with Someone
Who hides inside you.

We should talk about this problem--

Otherwise,
I will never leave you alone.”

―Hafiz,I Heard God Laughing: Poems of Hope and Joy

As I stand in front of our sliding glass door this morning, my heart sinks at the narrow view of our postage stamp back yard, and the messy look of winter’s last gasp all over the cracked patio. And the melancholy deepens as I look beyond at the thin line of skeletal trees permitting a glimpse into a barren expanse of brown grass beyond (courtesy of our tree-hating back-yard neighbor). And before I linger with that sadness, my dream arrives—like a knight in shining armor. That I will one day exchange this reality for a home on a wooded lot, where I can sit alone, ponder life, commune with nature, and write my heart out—all in the privacy of my own insulated world. Surely I would thrive in a place such as that. I mean, how could I not find bliss if that dream were to come true? By the way, I already have a she-shed in the woods that offers me all of these things, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it?

The older I get, I’m more aware of this nagging ache, a sign that says “here” is something I must save myself from until I can finally arrive “there.” And I’m also noticing how I’ve sought relief through a diet of imagined experiences. Dreams and plans that offer a little something to stave off the hunger. When I was 12, I fell in love with the newly-released song “Don’t Fall In Love With A Dreamer” by Kenny Rogers and Kim Carnes. We would listen to that song, my dreamer Dad and I, with this bond of deep, mutual sadness in our hearts. Our whole family carried a longing for something more, better, different, a longing that pairs well with a mind that doesn’t trust in realities. And that song helped us feel less alone in our tragic-romantic story line. By then, my Dad had been battling for over a decade to physically survive, and had been sentenced to a body that felt less than trust-worthy. Dreams were a logical escape—an enticing distraction for all of us. And we subsequently dreamed our way to places, with people, into situations that were, of course, disappointing. Even when truly wonderful things happened (and they did!), this attachment to a story of broken dreams would feel like a badge of worthiness. I, for decades, fully embraced this identity of lack.. and a craving for more than what life is offering at any given moment. I inherited an endless hole that begged life to fill it.

But this is hardly the whole picture. We all have experiences of emptiness-and we’re doing everything we can to survive the pangs. It’s taken me awhile to realize that our individual stories are irrelevant—that no matter what we are or aren’t doing to save ourselves isn’t the point. No matter what the habit, the coping strategy—each one has been woven into a crutch, propping us up until we wake enough to see the futility of our efforts. But along with that realization comes Truth—like the sun peeking around the bend. The Truth of Who and What have been hiding, deep in our hearts.

Can it really be this simple—that our hearts can lead the search, and deliver us to the place we truly long for? I remember when both of my parents were dying, all they wanted to do in those excruciating hours—was tell people how much they loved them. They didn’t have the luxury of making plans, they didn’t even seek relief from their pain. No matter how many attempts they had made throughout their lives to find themselves, and experience Joy—it all came back to the love in their hearts that lay, fully exposed on their deathbeds.

But how does knowing this change anything? I could blab all day about love being the ultimate answer to everything—but we still hurt, we still feel empty and disappointed, we still spend energy raging against our lives. The difference is-we now have a choice. An option that’s been wired into us that’s been buried under so much unnecessary bullshit. So on the many days when my mind doesn’t want to get on board the love train, and I catch myself dreaming of the next thing that will bring me joy, I can choose to remember this:

Getting what I want has never been my salvation. Being spared of any pain has not been the lynchpin of my faith or given me hope for the future. Only when life wrestles me away from my crutches can I finally fall to my knees, and surrender to what is beyond my control. I can open to what is real and truly life-changing. I can relinquish the sugar rush of day dreams, and toss out this tragic script when I see how little they offer me in return. This is the freedom that all of our hearts really long for, the joy we endlessly seek.

So my heart, in this moment, is telling me that love is the only way. Love life for everything it does and does not give you. Love the people in it—no matter how much they irritate or hurt you. Offer compassion to the “you” that has taken you down the bumpiest roads. Love the pain you are willing to feel, and the relief of it lifting. Love your sadness, and this powerful heart for having the capacity to hold it. Love animals for how they demonstrate presence, how they teach us about BEING. Love the spaciousness of sky and its eternal dance of light and shade. Love the generosity of air and beauty in the trees. There is no other route home, no fancy maneuver or complicated code. Love is the door to the home of our dreams.