Where do dreams come from? Do they
sneak in through torn screens at night
to light on the arm like mosquitoes?
Are they passed from mouth to ear
like gossip or dirty jokes? Do they
sprout from underground on damp
mornings like toadstools that form
fairy rings on dewtipped grasses?
No, they slink out of books, they lurk
in the stacks of libraries. Out of pages
turned they rise like the scent of peonies
and infect the brain with their promise…
(From: “Where Dreams Come From” by Marge Piercy, The Hunger Moon: New and Selected Poems, 1980-2010.)
For most of the past month, I’ve been in Okinawa, helping my daughter as she recovers from surgery, the better part of my day and evening spent in the company her children, Nathan, age four and Emily, two. The day winds down each evening at seven p.m., as I herd them upstairs for our nightly routine of face washing, teeth brushing, and each of their choices for a nighttime story. Nathan, fascinated with airplanes as a baby and now, chose Mousetronaut, a delightful story of a small mouse who wants nothing more than to travel to outer space, written by former astronaut, Mark Kelly.
The next morning, as we searched through old Halloween costumes in his closet, we discovered his toddler’s NASA astronaut suit his parents bought him three years ago. Despite his obvious growth since then, he wriggled himself into it, even though the hem of the legs barely covered his knees. The next evening, as we settled down for our nighttime story, he raised his hand to silence me.
“Gramma, stop.”
“What is it, Nathan?”
He stood and faced me, his brow furrowed. “I want to be an astronaut.”
I smiled. ”I know, Buddy.”
“No, Gramma, like this.”
He tugged at my hand and led me to his bookshelf and pulled Mousetronaut from its place, turning the pages until he found the picture of the team of astronauts, all wearing the same orange NASA uniform as his. “See Gramma?” He pointed at the tallest astronaut. “Like this. I want to be COMMANDER.”
I patted his head. “And you can, Buddy, if you try hard enough.”
“Yes,” he said, as I tucked him into bed. “I will be Commander.”
I left the room smiling, remembering some childish dreams of my own, some that never materialized; others that, in one way or another, actually did, but not without a few whacks on the side of the head—one of them a diagnosis of early stage breast cancer; the other an unexpected moment when my heart failed. Both events got my attention, and I realized that if I truly wanted to turn those dreams into reality, then I had better stop making excuses. I’ve thought of many people since that bedtime encounter—those who faced hardship or odds that might have easily deterred them from their dreams.
I remember Ann, diagnosed with a rare, terminal cancer, who kept beating the odds and lived nearly six years longer than anyone expected. That period turned into one of the most creative of her life. She blossomed into an extraordinary poet, studying with masters like Ellen Bass, Jane Hirshfield, Dorianne Laux, and Tony Hoagland, among others, and several of her poems were published in literary journals before her death—dreams realized out of hardship and crisis. Ann touched many of us with her grace and her spirit, manifested in her poems.
I thought back to the years I lived in Canada and, in 1980, followed, as so many of my Canadian friends did, a cross-country run by Terry Fox, athlete and cancer survivor, who, after having one leg amputated because of cancer, began a cross-Canada run to raise money and awareness for cancer research. Although his cancer spread and forced him to stop after over 3300 miles, his efforts resulted in a lasting, worldwide legacy, an annual Terry Fox Run, one of the world’s largest one-day fundraisers for cancer research.
One year ago, L., a recently retired physician, enrolled in my creative nonfiction class through UCLA extension Writers’ Program. She wanted to write her memoir—and what a story she had to tell! When she was younger, newly married and just beginning a medical career, she was in a horrific accident, losing both legs and an arm. The life she faced was full of unimaginable challenges, and yet, she was undaunted. She and her husband had a child; she continued with her medical career, and together, they found ways to enjoy a full and active life. Last year, L. sent me a photograph of one of the expeditions taken with her husband—her wheelchair at the top of Machu Picchu. Nothing, it seemed, would ever keep her from achieving her aspirations.
I am in awe of L. and people like her, but I’m also humbled by their determination and resilience, overcoming enormous odds to realize their dreams. They help me put my life in perspective. Life can hand us some tough times, unexpected losses or difficult challenges, ones that threaten or even alter our dreams. When I think these truest of heroes or look at the photograph of a solitary wheelchair atop Machu Picchu, I’m inspired to try a little harder too.
I tucked Nathan and his sister into bed again last night, as I’ve done since I arrived here. He clutched a small plastic replica of the Okinawa superhero, Mabuyer. “I have the power, Gramma,” he said, holding up the figure.
“Yes, buddy, you do,” I replied as I kissed his forehead.
I said goodnight, turned off his light and left the room thinking that we should all be so lucky to “have the power.” Maybe then we’d never lose the determination to realize our dreams–no matter what obstacles we face in life.
Write about your dreams. When has life gotten in the way of them? What’s changed? What do you hope and dream for now?
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