These past few mornings, I’ve woken up at sunrise, as I always do. Sitting at my breakfast table with a cup of coffee by my side, I try to find words. Lately, I’ve been wondering whether I have anything left to say and if I do, what exactly that is worth. I’ve felt more and more that my life has come to a standstill. As if the days continue to pass and a wave of nothingness soars through them.
My life looks nothing like it did even if I reflect back to the beginning of this year. I wanted change, and so I received exactly that. I moved across the country alone (again), I quit a job that had left me drained day after day, and I found myself in search of something more. Now, inside of the “more”, I feel distorted. Pulled back and forth between a love of newness and an ache for familiarity. Wanting to use this summer to explore the new world I live in but needing so badly to take time for myself and process it all.
I think a part of me naively assumed that once I make the necessary changes, everything else would sort itself out immediately. I admit to you that I should know better than to think this way. It’s not like history has ingrained this belief system in me. Each time I’ve made drastic changes in my life, there is an intermission – a period after your life is turned inside-out where nothing happens.
To some, this makes a lot of sense. You need time to process everything that has shifted. You need space to reflect, but also to set new intentions moving forward. You just need this time. I get it, I do. Deep down, I understand that without this nothingness, I will be instantly burnt out. I understand that we live in a society that rewards a go-go-go lifestyle and I understand that this mentality is quite toxic and detrimental. I understand all of this, and here I am still hating it.
For a few weeks now, I’ve been sitting on this blog post, trying to come up with some sort of solution that I could offer not only for you but for myself, too. This morning, out of the blue, I remembered a conversation I had with my therapist a few years back. I recalled another time I was at a standstill, and what she said in response was to use this empty space and slow time to just dream. Daydream, fantasize, and conjure up the world that I’d like to step into.
As someone who was born a little spaced out, dreaming comes almost a bit more naturally to me than creating. I’ve always lived in two worlds: the external reality, and the one I played out inside of my own head. There’s a reason I love to tell stories, write books, and listen to music for hours on end.
Having been told that the way I live is simply a form of escapism over and over, I’d nearly forgotten that it was okay to dream, and to do so intentionally rather than in secret. As a lover of progression, this pause that my life feels its been struck with has suddenly become joyful. I can play inside of the nothing by dreaming of all that I wish is next for me. In a world of endless possibilities, what could I become? Who do I wish to be? Where do I wish to go? And who do I want by my side through it all?
If this space is granted for me to move forward with more intention, then it would only make sense for me to follow the themes of what I dream about. To envision the life I would like moving forward. To fall in love with a world I can work to create for myself when that time comes.
I don’t believe that dreaming is only this escape from what is real and true. I think it can actually be a guiding tool for recognizing what you want most, and what is real and true for you.