This weekend, I met a dreamer. For the dreamer in me, it was so refreshing.
I always believed that my dreams would come true, no matter what. One day I turned into Fontaine from Les Miserables. Dreams turned into disillusionment. Cynicism broke my rose-colored glasses, and I stopped expecting my dreams to come true.
Now I find myself joking about my dreams. I’m going to write the next great American novel. Ha. Ha.
The dreamer is a musician. Everyday, he’s living out his dreams. He’s following his dreams.
This weekend, something dormant in me because alive again. I realize that I’m not going to sit down in a coffee shop for an afternoon and pen a novel. Just like music requires discipline and mastering a craft, so does writing.
To my dreamer friend, thank you for reminding me to dream.
To all of my dreamer friends in remission, I pray that God sends someone into your path to revive the dreams that were planted in your heart at birth.
