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2002-05-25 - 1:33 p.m.

I can ignore nocturnal dreams as nonsense playing across my nighttime theater, but to ignore true dreams means some part of me dies.

I’ve always been a dreamer, entertained and satisfied by the Don Quixote imaginings frolicking through my mind, and I’ve chased several windmills. Wishful thinking, ridiculous and impossible. But many are achievable, and I’ve been fortunate. I’ve built a few castles in the sky. In retrospect, I wonder why I would even imagine some of the things I’ve concocted in my head, I’ve outgrown a few pipe dreams, I’ve gained self-satisfaction in achieving others, and I’ve been disappointed in the realization of some others.

I’ve tried and succeeded; I’ve tried and failed. That’s acceptable to me because I’ve tried. It doesn’t send me into self-analysis or self-depreciation. What can send me into a self-pitying funk is realizing I’ve ignored a lifetime goal. And to protect my own ego, I’ve wasted time trying to find something or someone to blame. A great ego defense, but a sure waste of time. The slap in the face comes when I finally admit it’s my own damn fault I’ve ignored something I once held dear. I’m not a puppet, I do pull my own strings, or, in this case, fail to pull my own strings.

Of course, there’s safety in not chasing windmills; turning my back on it means I’ll never have to discover or admit I lack whatever it takes to realize the dream. But if I don’t try and continue to ignore a true dream, whether out of fear or laziness, it surely means some little piece--or several pieces--of me will die. It’s a part of me that will never be given a chance at anything beyond infancy.

“If you can imagine it, you can create it. If you can dream it, you can become it.” -- William Arthur Ward.

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