We are
a country of dreamers. The American Dream is a deep part of our collective
psychology. It is part of our charm. Where would the world be without
dreamers? Whether it is the little boy who looks at a star and thinks,
some day I’m going to go there, or the woman who looks at a lumpy
patch of earth, rolls up her sleeves and says, I’m going to fill
this space with roses, dreamers with the courage to strive for their
dreams are the joy of humankind.
But between the dream and its fulfillment is a long and often perilous
path. Not all dreams are meant to be and nowhere is this more evident
than in the area of human relationships. We dream of this lovely person
who will magically come in to our lives and make all the lyrics to all
the songs be ours. It is such a seductive fantasy. In those first luminous
weeks and months it seems our whole lives have lead us to this point.
When we are lucky the dream takes root in our lives and slowly transforms
in to being.
But this
is not always the case and the disillusionment of the dream that eludes
us can end in hurt and anger. Those of us who are disappointed dreamers
can all too easily grow bitter and hardened against life.
My friend Sophie met this guy – one friend says most of the sad
stories in the world begin with “I met this guy/girl”. Sophie
had been through enough – a marriage that started out a fantasy,
turned tempestuous and then gasped its last. After a discouraging divorce
and several years of frustration and loneliness, HE appeared and for
a while it was magic. She would call me breathless and aglow.
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” she’d
whisper in awe. “I’m 54 years old and I’ve never felt
this beautiful in all my life.” This is how it is supposed to
be, I would tell her. I’m lucky. I’ve been there. This is
how it should always be.
But then the problems started and, sadly, the dream fizzled into disillusion.
She cried. She did what we all do when the magical beloved turns out
to be a fellow human fraught with fears and doubts and less than admirable
weaknesses.
One day, after the worst of the pain had passed, she said, “You
know, I probably should be mad at him but the truth is before he came
along I never knew how thrilling love is. Without those weeks with him
I might have gone my whole life without knowing how much joy I could
feel. So even though part of me is really hurt, I’ve decided I’m
not going to think about that. I’m just going to keep the beauty.”
What a brave decision! When he came in to her life she began dreaming
the dream that all would-be lovers do – the dream of forever more.
When the dream failed to materialize she faced disillusionment and bitterness.
But she decided not to surrender to the hurt.
Somehow we take it as a given that when our dreams, plans or hopes are
thwarted it naturally follows that we become unhappy and depressed.
It is almost institutionalized. “Aren’t you upset?”
a friend will say meaning to be helpful. “I’d be so hurt.”
And while that is a factor in any disappointment it is not necessarily
the entirety of the situation. Even though the experience has not gone
in the hoped for direction that does not negate the beauty that was
there. That is ours to keep and enfold in to our spirits - to keep alive
and share.
It seems fashionable these days to be bitter. “If you’d
been through what, I’ve been through,” we often hear. Yes.
It is true – there has been pain and hurt, betrayal and loss.
We have to grieve our hurts. But it seems to me that in any experience
worth grieving there must have been something wonderful. Why else would
we bemoan its passing? And the beautiful is as much a part of us as
the hurt, if only we choose to make it so.
My story starts the same - I met this guy. And he was glorious. I loved
everything about him – his laugh, his eyes, his wit. And for a
while we were dazzling together. People would tell me, you make the
most gorgeous couple, you are both so ALIVE! I was walking on clouds.
I know about limerance – that rose-infused glow that we willingly
mistake for love. Besottment, infatuation, intoxication. All of it was
there. When the relationship began to founder I reminded myself of that.
I hardly knew him – he certainly didn’t know me. True love
takes months, years. But still I wanted to cling to the dream. To live
in the shimmer of the illusion.
An early morning found me at the beach, trying to make sense of how
something that seemed so exquisite for a while could turn in to so much
pain. I heard a deep, primal whooshing sound above me and looking up
discovered a flock of swans, their massive luminous wings carving flight
through the golden glow of morning. I had never seen a sight to compare
to the beauty of those graceful beauties winging overhead. The breeze
from their great wings bathed my face and I knew……. I knew
that, like this flock of swans, the opportunity to share beauty with
another is a gift. It is sometimes rare and often fleeting. But it is
as real as those gorgeous birds streaked with morning light. I choose
to keep the beauty, to make it my own. And that beauty will be a part
of my spirit forever more.
