"Let your dream devour your life, not your life devour your dream." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery
I met someone over the weekend who has the exact life I wanted before Mom got sick and everything blew up for years. He works part-time as a contractor for corporations, setting his own hours to accomodate his night-owl proclivity. Lives in a beautiful city simply enough to use the rest of the time to pursue his passions: painting, music, travel, volunteering.
Exactly what I'd pictured.
And now that I'm moved into my lovely place, and almost all my boxes are unpacked, I'm looking around dissatisfied.
Too much stuff owns me.
I had dreamt of filling this apartment with laughing friends and a loving boyfriend. Cooking walnut-apple brie, fondue, fritattas, T-bone steaks, sauteed mushrooms, garlic mussels and my famous Caesar salad for them all. Sitting down at my round table on my purple velvet dining chairs with red wine and sweet martinis to play card games and discuss politics and books and life. We'd take turns on the baby grand piano, and have movie nights again, and maybe I'd put up the pole in my bedroom and dance for my man sometimes...
I've been moved in for three months now, and have only just had someone over Sunday night for dinner. And it was lovely. But.
I look around now and the dream seems empty compared to the adventure of traveling, helping people, living simply enough to not be a slave to the military industrial complex. "Sicko" made me so sick I'd even seriously consider moving out of the country to a place that would value me, where I could contribute. To stay is to be complicit.
There's nothing holding me here. No pets, no love, no job I couldn't do from a laptop. I'd always dreamed of traveling with a boyfriend, but what the hell...I've never been in danger alone; if anything I've always had carte blanche from strangers. Even at the Marriot in San Diego last weekend, the staff volunteered extra care of me. The cute room service guy was so sad he woke me up early, I thought he was going to tuck me back into bed. People will always take me in.
I can write anywhere. I can fly into LA and stay with my sister to maintain friendships and connections and have meetings. When it's production time, we might be in Mexico or Northern California anyway. And within six months I'll be able to make studio-quality films anywhere with the Red camera and distribute online.
Hmmmn...Palm Springs, Pheonix, San Diego, South Carolina, Memphis, Portland, Glastonbury, Montreal...
I could go anywhere, do anything, be anybody.
Meet a great love who wants to be with me in a taxi cab, an elevator, or Marrakesh. Revered mutually.
Perchance to dream.
If you were free, what would you be?