To be a Writer

It looked like a bunch of different familiar places all pushed into one dream. The grass on the path was cut short, the sky was bright and beautiful. It was a very sunny day. Classic Disney movie vibes. The path was clear and I walked down it without any hesitation, until I came across a beautiful lake. The water was sparkling, and almost purple-ish. Butterflies danced around me, and bounced from flower to flower. They sorta looked like forget-me-nots. There were also lots of Queen Anne's Lace and daffodils. It's as I said. Classic Disney movie vibes. It felt like I belonged here, somehow. Between the beauty of the place itself and the butterflies (my good luck charms) it all felt right. It all felt very normal. 

I woke up feeling pretty good. 

I didn't dream of the place for several months, but when I was walking down the same path, I couldn't help but think about its familiarity. The grass was short and bright green; the sun was still directly above me. I didn't even see a cloud blocking her view of my world. 

There was something different, though about the lake. 

Butterflies still played on the embankment, and flowers still dotted the grass around it. 

This time, however, there was a cabin built beside it. Practically on top of it. The water was still sparkling underneath the sun. Where the waterwheel turned it up it was clean and clear. Even with this new development, I could tell it was the exact same place I had been to months before. 

It wasn't my last, either. 

This time, the beginning of the path was difficult. I was surrounded by bare trees. I crawled for some reason along the snowful path. It was arduous and although it was a dream I could tell it was cold and I was miserable. 

When the path turned to grass beneath me, the sun came back out. The trees fell away and I felt like I was in Narnia. Birds and butterflies greeted me, but I wasn't at the lake yet. It had just changed back into that sunny path that had led me there twice before. 

But as before, there was something different about it. This was just the path, not the lake, but still something had changed, even if just slightly. Even more development must've happened somewhere because I stood I realized I wasn't alone. A herd of soldiers was running at me. As you can imagine I ran. I was running this time down the path that led me to the lake, with the soldiers just on my heels.

This time when I awoke, my heart was beating faster than I thought it was allowed to. 

The dog at the foot of my bed glared angrily at me. He'd been sleeping real hard because the fur on top of his was floofed up in an adorable bedhead sort of way. He liked to roll over and sleep on his back or climb under the covers so we all figured that was where his bedhead came from. 

My parents were already awake (probably because it was noon on a Sunday). I sat at the counter while my mom worked through her grocery list. I told her about my recurring dream. Or, the recurring setting of my dreams, I supposed is a better way of putting it. "I don't know what they mean," I said. I was only fourteen and I had no fucking clue hat my dream was supposed to mean, but I knew it was probably important.

"You should ask your dad. He's better at interpreting dreams," she said. 

So I recounted it all to my dad and waited for him to think about it. "I think it's the Creator telling you that, no matter how much things seem to change or develop around you, and no matter how hard things get, your path and your destination all stay the same." 

I found this fascinating, but didn't know what it meant. Or at least, I didn't know what my "path" or my "destination" was. 

I remembered this interpretation five years later when sitting in my freshman dorm room after declaring my major in creative writing. I'd only been there for a few weeks, and yet the decision to be a creative writing major was a no brainer. I'd only applied to three schools, all known for their creative writing program. At first I'd wanted to major in classical studies and only minor in creative writing. My nerd brain loved Percy Jackson and mythology and I wanted to some day be a professor and teach mythology, specifically Greek mythology if possible. But none of the schools that offered classical studies appealed to me in the least, and all the schools I was drawn to didn't even offer it as a major. I found it strange I was, more or less, pushed into this direction of creative writing major. I fell absolutely in love with the school I chose and loved all my classes. I developed my writing skills and really found my voice and my confidence as a writer. None of this would've happened if I'd gone down the classical studies path...though it doesn't even feel like I had much of a choice sometimes when I really think about it. 

The last of my dreams really sticks with me nowadays. Although I enjoy working with kids, I've discovered that I'm not built to be a teacher. I really want nothing more than to write, but finding a job without experience is difficult. Everyone wants you to have experience, but how can get that if no one is willing to try with you? Freelance writing isn't easy to start either, and you don't make money right away. It all takes time which is frustrating when you're ambitious and just want your dreams to start, like, now. But sometimes you feel stuck, like nothing is happening and you don't know how to make it happen. Maybe this is the part where I'm crawling through the snow. Eventually the path will open back up and I'll find my way again. I don't know who's supposed to be chasing me down the path, but I guess the point is that I get there eventually, right? 

Guess we'll find out.