“Resurrection of Dead Dreams” is actually the title of a book that belongs to a series authored by a dear friend who’s been through a lot physically, emotionally and spiritually. I got to know her gradually at my workplace, as my office was located right behind her cubicle. When we started sharing thoughts and ideas about writing, our friendship blossomed into an extraordinary collaboration of two crazy minds meant to undertake a beautiful journey. Because of my selfishness while I was still out there drinking and feeling sorry for myself, our friendship took a toll, and I didn’t expect forgiveness. Our journey through life and the writing world was meant to continue, and today, I am privileged to count her as one of my closest friends, and she is a great source of inspiration.
Dreams and reality don’t really work well together, except when the stars align perfectly, and a dream comes true. Often though, a dream remains a dream, and reality does a fine job making sure we stay on track paying bills, taking care of our family, and acting as responsible adults. Childhood dreams die as we grow, to be replaced with other dreams, that may die also. Out of all my dreams, most of them died somehow. New dreams were born in my frantic mind, and they followed the same path. The death of a dream can be discouraging, heartbreaking, and may lead to feeling jaded and bitter about life.
I’ve felt jaded often. I didn’t look at positive things, only focused on the negative. I dwelled on all my bad experiences, and learned from them by promising never to dream again. Of course, I’ve failed. I’m only human. Without dreams, I am dead inside.
A dream may die, and another may come to life to die again, but sometimes, dead dreams resuscitate, and give me the incentive I need to start a new project and follow through with it. Writing was a childhood dream of mine that died when I finished high school and started college. I pushed writing away and focused on being an adult. What I learned from this experience is that killing my dream was like killing a part of me, and I never truly mourned that loss. Writing went into a coma for ten long years, before being resuscitated after talking for a few minutes with my friend, and exchanging ideas about her book, “Resurrection of Dead Dreams”.
Since then, writing has been a part of my life stronger than ever. My writing style is far from perfect, as English isn’t my mother tongue, but I keep trying because this is what I was meant to do. I swallow my pride and ask for help from my editor. We all need a good editor in our back pocket!
Dead dreams don’t really disappear. They stay buried in the cemetery that is our mind, and it is our choice to resuscitate them or not. I believe that with enough willingness and hard work any dream can come true.
I made writing my daily reality, and certainly couldn’t live without it. When everything feels out of place, the writing bug remains. It is the best disease to have, and I’m blessed to be infected by it.