Invisible Dream

*Originally published on my Wordpress blog 08.24.2022

I am keenly aware of my mortality these days. My kids are raised and are now raising their kids. My professional life has drawn to a close. My body lets me know every day that I am not the youthful runner with the smooth skin that I used to be. It is painful for me to lose the things that used to be. I haven’t lost everything. I still have my curiosity, my quick smile, my joie de vivre, my attention to detail, my desire not to be frumpy, my drive to learn - these are all important and still present. But I miss the physical energy and the attractive youthful appearance. More than anything else I miss the dreams that no longer happen.  I watch the losses in my head - the days that used to be - and it feels as if nothing could compare to those days. Nothing can hold the promise of 45 or 50 years ago - even 30 years ago. There were dreams about homes and children and trips and jobs - so many dreams and plans and hopes and big ideas. Now? Not so much.

I know you will say what about Rory and Liv? Sure, I will enjoy watching them grow up but I know the time will fly by. I can’t predict how much contact I will have with them. I know I want a close relationship with them but there are no guarantees around that. I can only make myself available and present and so that’s what I do. But they really can’t be part of my dreams.

So I look at my life now. I struggle every day with an awareness of what has already gone by. And I walk through the house and, in some ways, am burdened by the things that I once thought I would be or do. That is infinitely sad. I took Alex’s old bedroom and made it into an art room where I have created some cool art work but really? These days when I go in there I feel pressure to produce something. I wondered this morning if it wouldn’t be okay to simply empty that room. Let go of all that stuff and all the pressure it puts on me. Dismantle this part of my life.  Take the pressure off me.

I look around at all the books I have. It’s painful to know that they were acquired with such excitement and hope. I am guilty of collecting books because I very much want to read them but I have more books that I will ever be able to read (especially since I also read the reviews on new books and get those routinely from the library). I have 50 or more art books related to either studio art or art history.  I foolishly thought once upon a time that I would look at them all and look at them repeatedly. I would use that pastels instruction book to expand my skill. Ditto the acrylics guide. And the watercolors guide. And the drawing guides. I believed that I would page through and read the beautiful art history books but really? Will I ever? I am sad because the books were all acquired with such excitement and so many plans - plans to paint, to improve my skills, to be proud of my pieces. Now they just sit and remind me of all that I did not do.

I look at the various tools I have for exercise. I have fewer now than 20 years ago but I have the same issue here. I bought the yoga instruction books, the weight training books, a couple of bike maintenance books - but why? I don't look at them. Yes, I do yoga work and weight training but only the same stuff every day. I say that “some day” I am going to expand and I will do more but is that true? Most sad of all is my bicycle. I am mourning the loss of long bicycle rides. Sure, I can ride in town errands but those long Sunday morning hours of solitude, beauty , challenge? I have had too many bike accidents to continue. The bike accident itself is not the issue but the long and painful recovery (which never fully happens) is what I don’t want anymore. I can hike and walk .That’s something but it is not what I most want. The lovely years of challenging myself with bicycle adventures are gone. No more dreams there.

I have a whole shelf of travel books. I say I want to travel . Now that is something that is still calling to me. But it has gotten complex and expensive to travel. It’s demanding to do the actual act of traveling . Once I get to the destination, it’s fine but the driving or the flying?  Challenging in so many ways. And, on top of all that, I am oddly afflicted with FOMO on the home turf.  I also don’t have a playmate, although I could arrange for a sibling to come along most likely.  But that’s not the same as traveling with a lover. Travel dreams are still alive but they seem to be infected with reality. Who knows how long they will live? 

It really boils down to four things: family, outdoor excursions, books, and writing.  It’s kinda sad but that’s what I see for the next 15 years . I will watch the little girls grow and continue to support their parents in whatever ways I can. I will take walks and hikes and sit out at the beach and enjoy the ocean. I write for fun and games. I can still do that. It doesn’t take a bunch of supplies but it takes time. I can read. I can write. I can watch YouTube videos and learn lots of things that way. I can even just watch some good old movies, something I rarely do these days. And I can wait to exit the planet.

Social life? Yes, I guess that factors in there too. It’s been difficult to get back into the swing of it post pandemic.  I only want to stay home. I don’t want to give my precious non child time to anyone other than a book or a hike. Yes, I spend some time in the online world but that overall is making me feel sad and lonely. People disappoint. Or people put stuff up and I feel stupid (the curse of social media.) In short, I can work toward re-establishing some social ties but I will be discerning. I am not going to meet up with anyone unless they are interesting to me.

I imagine a house reduced to the bare essentials - the books I WILL read, the space for family to visit.  There is house and yard maintenance that I could do even more of. Not paint. Not whatever.  IDK - I feel pressure to do things. As long as I am in this cordial but not intimate marriage,  all  I really want to do is read, write, and be outside.

I AM grateful for all that I have been given in life. Make no mistake about that. Is it okay to want more though? Is it okay to be grateful but also to be aware of wanting more? Wanting an intimate relationship, someone to share these last years with? It's okay if it never happens. I have plenty of goodness but I can also want it to happen too. I think it I did have that close , playful , intimate, loving connection, images of the the past would not dominate my days. I would be able to dream again and make plans and have big ideas. IDK