September 10th, 2010 Dear Dreamers, I have thought a lot about who to address these words to —words that lie on a blank page, as if they were petals, or tears, or dreams. As if they were infinite —words and meanings. “Dear Diary” never made me crazy... “Dear Stranger”? Well… why should I care about someone who’s not even in my life yet? It seems a bit of an exaggeration to me.... When, on the verge of giving up, considering writing “Dear Diary”, and choking down cold, stale noodles from the carton, I thought of you, dreamers. I thought I could address my words to You. I thought I could address this Journal to You. You, who found it, who opened it and gave yourself permission to dream —through words, through “meanings”, through dreams, that were once mine. I have to say: you’ve been very brave. So… Rolling, Camera, Action! I’m kidding… there’s no camera here, no action here. There are only my dreams, searching for life. I have a question for you… Have you ever found yourself in that moment where you are about to enter The Place of your Dreams, the place you’ve been imagining since you were a child? No, maybe “imagining” isn’t the right term. (Speaking of words and meanings…) The place you’ve been dreaming of since you were a child. The place you’ve been fantasizing about, you draw every corner, every color, every floor tile in your mind since the day you were able to hold a brush. You’ve painted the expressions of the people in it —the color of their clothes, the color of their eyes, the way they move, the way they talk, how they would make you feel: emotions, glances, smiles… even their thoughts. Have you ever? I, that of fantasies have collected thousands, turned that place into a work of art. I, that of fantasies have forgotten millions, can still remember every noise, every scent, every feeling, every detail. I, that of fantasies... —I’m here, Dad, can you see me?!— My hands are shaking, I cannot even hold on to the handle of the Red Door. Everything feels heavy, heavy like thoughts drowning in my heart. The air is heavy. My legs are heavy. My head is heavy. But not my heart. My heart is light. I’m trying my best to look graceful, confident and clever. I’ve always tried. I’ve never really succeeded. The more I try, the more I fail. Ladies and Gentlemen: the story of my life. —You will get to know me… don’t worry, with time, and patience— Patience helps us to become adults, even if we don’t really want to be....— Have you ever been in that situation when you’ve been invited to the "Event of the Year", where everyone looks so beautiful, so perfect, that if you were to see them the morning after, you would think you'd lost your memory because you wouldn't recognize a single one of them?! You could finally fit in that dress, that long, black-and-white dress, the one so tight it’s almost impossible to breathe. You’re wearing high heels, or maybe those tight new shoes you just bought. You would love to look like a ballerina, but instead, what everyone sees is a mouflon stepping onto a burning wood floor. All eyes are on you as you make your grand entrance. Your only thought is: “I Mustn’t fall, I mustn’t stumble, I mustn’t fall. I have to be careful not to look down while walking, but at the same time, I need to watch where I’m going, just from the corner of my eye… I’m supposed to lift my dress slightly with my hand, so I don’t trip...oh right, I also I have to remember to breathe… yes, breathing...” Can you follow? Your brain is going mad: “Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it” and then again “All right… are you ready to taste the floor? mmm … it looks sooo yummy…” What are the chances you can succeed, not fall, not smash your nose on the floor tiles? What are the chances, when your entire mind is fixated on the one verb you’re suppose to forget? Fall… - Words are so extraordinary... the more you read them, the more you write them, the more you say them, the more they change their meaning. Fall... I wonder if I even spelled it right...- What are the chances?! Few. Very few. What happens is that your mind —being the control center of your whole body— turns “fall” into something real. And suddenly, it’s staring back at you. Those big blue eyes, staring right back at you —like that boy in high school, the one you liked. The one who showed up right in front of you —unexpectedly— while you were rushing back to class after the lunch break in the cafeteria, the one that makes you fast more than it feeds you. And no, you didn’t notice that half a sandwich was stuck on your face. Just like that boy you liked. “Fall” pops up in front of you. Done! Tripped. You fell. Oh yep, you did! You smeared yourself on the dusty floor tiles. It happened. You. Smeared. On the floor. In front of all the party guests. I am, this morning, terrified of falling and smashing my face on the floor. Terrified of tripping over a language I don’t yet know —but pretend to. I smile and nod, even though they’re actually asking for my social security number. Smile. Nod. Gesticulate. Because yes, we do gesticulate a lot. And yes, we’re convinced our gestures are universal. No. Our gestures are not universal. I assure you. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. I am, this morning, terrified of tripping over all the people looking at me —because I see them looking. I know they’re looking at me. I know they’re judging. All of them. Or maybe not. Maybe they’re not looking at me. Maybe they’re not judging. Maybe… they’re just as scared as I am. Who knows... I-am-this-morning-terrified-of-falling-into-that-dream. The dream I’ve always wanted to realize. And now that I’m here to do it, now that I can finally touch it, I’m afraid of losing it. My dream. I am afraid I won’t be able to live it. The dream, so big, yet so small out here, in this ocean I've chosen to dive into. —i’ve never been good at diving, you can ask around… i pretended I was good. My arms were in the right place. My legs looked okay… The ocean was there, waiting for me… okay…i’m ready… Nope, nope. I just belly-flopped. Yes, I’ve never been good at diving…— That dream, the one never shared by the world where I thought I belonged, the world I’ve left behind. The world I’ve left without ever looking back. The dream that was so big, so strong, it held me up when everything collapsed. Suddenly. —Because everything collapses, but always suddenly. But not dreams. Not my dream. And here I am, in front of the Red Door, ready to start living my dreams. For the first time. In front of the Red Door. The Red Door of dreams. I’ve never liked Red — the color, I mean. Red has always been something I loathed. Perhaps my mother is to blame. She’s never liked it, never worn Red clothes, never had Red furniture in the house, never had Red in her life. Why? For the same reason I’ve never liked velvet striped pants. There is no real reason — I just don't like them. Just like I've never liked Red. Until today. Until the Red Door. The one that holds all my dreams. —Okay, I’m going now.— —Be warned, I have a habit of talking to myself. Get used to it…— I’m ready. I do it. Slowly… Slowly leaning my trembling hand on the Red Door handle. I pull it toward me.... The sound of wood creaking under my feet, that music, those voices, those colors, those smiles. That I’ve always imagined. That I’ve always dreamt of. They were all there, waiting for me . Once I opened that Red Door, I've found all my dreams, there, waiting for me. And that’s how I fell… “That’s how I fell on the very first day of school. I fell into a Dream into a Memory. I stumbled, and fell onto the floor. I stumbled and fell into Life.” 🎧 Listen to the narrated version: “🎙️The Courage to Become” Get full access to 🌷Red Tulips at redtulips.substack.com/subscribe
