I once held dreams so close to my heart I grew intoxicated by the possibilities they offered me.
I’ve lived most of my life in a realm of dreams far from reality. Whoever I wanted to be, wherever I hoped to go — I believed that everything I desired awaited me, as if fate were fluid enough to encompass whatever I wished.
There was a dream I believed in above all else. One destined just for me. Through realizing my gift I would gain a sense of purpose, a reason to live. I wish I could translate this vision clearly, but at its core, it’s nothing more than simply praying that my efforts are contributing to something meaningful, which in turn will give my life meaning. I think we all have something like this sitting in our back pocket — a dream we once hoped for, or perhaps still hope will come true.
When this year’s Olympic Games came around, something strange welled up within me as I watched Olympians live their dreams from the comfort of my couch. I realized that somewhere along the way, I had fallen far behind in the pursuit of dreams. What I once hoped for with the entirety of my soul had grown dormant, as I meandered meaninglessly through existence while those rare and true dreamers were busy working endlessly at turning their dreams to reality. Watching them live their dreams felt as if they were taking what was meant to be mine, or worse yet, that this was my own doing — that I’d let go of what could have been mine.
I’m not speaking of gold medals, but something much more important. I saw in an Olympian everything I wished I could’ve been. Someone who, since birth, has had the means to nurture and realize their gift, who has had every piece fall into place for them to bring their dream to fruition. Someone who overcame every obstacle thrown their way to get to where they needed to go. I don’t see the gold medal as a signifier of being the greatest, but rather an indicator of someone who has fulfilled a vital element of their purpose — whose dream has attained the illusive title of reality.
In the face of greatness, I found within myself its polar opposite — someone who has a gift but is too afraid to believe in it, who has a purpose but is too easily distracted, who is hopelessly running through a maze and never reaching their destination.
Then I realized something else. On the surface, the Olympics made me feel like a failure. The competition, comparison and an idea of greatness epitomized in a gold medal made me feel like shit.
But I, too, live each day doing my best. I face an invisible competitor each day I wake up, as I hopelessly try to live up to impossible standards. My life consists of defeats and victories leading me towards something great that exists beyond any prescribed standard of worth.
And it’s okay that I’ll never receive a gold medal. I may never experience a moment that solidifies the realization of a childhood dream. I may never be the best, but I’m still standing with a smile on my face, treading towards my version of happiness. That must count for something.
Maybe that’s the only dream that has ever really mattered.
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