A broken heart is a broken dream.
It’s a good thing to dream, to visualize a goal, to make it so real in one’s imagination that when the longed-for event or item arrives, it is expected and handled with gratitude and care. It is a good thing to not let obstacles stand in the ways of our dreams, to push through, to fight the good fight, to soldier on, to… well, you know.
To give up on a dream is to admit defeat. Right?
What’s wrong with defeat? What’s wrong with taking the dream off the shelf and admitting that the timing is wrong or circumstances have changed, or the price is too high. Maybe giving up on a dream isn’t defeat at all, it’s realism.
Nevertheless, when a dream evaporates, it hurts. Plans have been made, allowances considered, schedules consulted. Most dreams are enormously successful in our fantasies, and those are the hardest to set aside. With our dreams intact, our futures are glorious. Without them, we’re back where we started, in whatever rut we’re in, swimming through our reality — the detritus of past dreams realized.
Disappointment is tough. But we’re only disappointed to the extent that we invested ourselves in the dream. And dreams are just that: dreams. we shout our orders to The Man Upstairs and then stand by, expecting them to be granted, visions of greatness swirling through our heads. And then, when it doesn’t materialize, we mourn.
That’s ridiculous. Dreams are a dime a dozen. If one doesn’t materialize, then get out and find yerself a new one. I’ve had devastating disappointments in my life and not one of them has hurt me to any measurable degree.
Remember that Garth Brooks song, “Thank God for unanswered prayers”?
So I’ll take today’s disappointment, chalk it up to bad timing and The Man Upstairs’ better plan for my time and energy and get on with trying to figure out what that might be.
I have better things to do today than mourn the loss of a fantasy.