a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep
something that you have wanted very much to do, be, or have for a long time
Each of us have a dream, either while we slumber or when we stare off into space. Some can be lofty. Others, simple. Some of us are better at putting a little bit of oomph into making our dreams a reality, while some of us sit quietly on ours; incubating them until they are ready to hatch.
Questions about “What is your dream this, this or this” piss me off. I usually greet them with an eye roll. Mutter under my breath. Sigh. Shift my weight. And then, in the cruelest way, I go back to where I was before the question was asked and stew. My entire life I’ve been labelled a “dreamer.” It’s a curse really. I am indecisive. My head is constantly floating up into the clouds. There are journals filled with ‘dreams’ (ie: goals), that have yet to be accomplished, let alone discussed. I haven’t completed a one. Routine has taken place of my usual fly by the seat of my pants behavior. It’s a drag really, I’m working on bringing that part of myself back into play.
But, for the sake of writing this post, I will tell you one of my “dreams.”
It’s a simple one, really. One that doesn’t have an expiration date, time stamp or age bracket. I tell myself that this dream is not too late for me. It’ll happen. Patience is what matters most in a situation like this, isn’t it? I’ve started to slowly push this dream into motion with conversations and I know it’ll continue in motion. Eventually building speed and propelling me into a slightly unknown. It’s an exciting time for me and a smidge terrifying.
In being true to myself and what I want most-
I will be returning to school to obtain a history degree, in the hopes of working in preservation, research and museum studies.
Lofty, no? I’m a history nerd and have been since I heard a history professor & archeologist speak at a career day function in sixth grade. I was hooked. I was drawn in. The dream for me became more intense when I was in Europe. I actually cried while walking down the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles in Paris. I spent an entire day, open to close, at the British Museum and never became bored. I was once removed from an art gallery by security because I was leaning too far over the velvet rope to get a better look at the brush strokes of Van Gogh. In Boston, I had a hard time focusing in on the present, because my mind instantly went to the past- who walked this street? What happened here on this spot? THIS VERY FOOTPRINT. That’s how my mind works you guys. I can’t even pick up an old book at the thrift store without thinking about it’s past.
The study of people, the places they lived, the lives they created, the monstrosities and how all this affects us today sucks me in. I lose myself in books. Museums. Artifacts. The back story- you guys, the back story! It gets me every time. The attention to little details fascinate me. Touching objects that are aged beyond comprehension. Understanding the reason (or not). Seeing the same excitement in another person’s face when you compare notes on places and experiences.
For years I thought that maybe I shouldn’t go back to history. That it’s a waste of time. I’d convinced myself I should go back to college for my marketing degree. IT. Graphic Design. Welding. Yet, nothing seemed right. I’d read over course descriptions, talk to people who have these same jobs and walk away with an empty heart.
If I truly think about what it is that I want to “do”, it’s always history.
In any fashion: teaching, working in a museum, preservation of historical sites or documents.
This is what it is.
This is my dream.