Accepting My Dreams as Realities

It's what led me here.

Morpheus (God of Dreaming), by Luba Krejci, 1979.

Introductions are scary, so let’s forgo them and pretend you’ve known me forever.

Oh, there you are! So good to see you again. It’s been how long? Well no matter, it’s been too long. And how am I?

I’m struggling.

Struggling to finish my last semester of college. Struggling to complete my online Teacher Certification Course. Struggling to get out of bed still, some days.

But I have something to share!

I have finally started chasing my dreams. And I hear you, that might sound romantic—frivolous, even—but, it’s very rooted in reality. These are very tangible dreams I’m training to catch…

There’s nothing wrong with believing you can achieve something before you’re actually good enough to.

Alright, I’ll drop the act. My name is Isabella Rose Rodriguez, I am twenty-two years old, I am going to publish a dystopian novel, and yes, it’s nice to meet you too.

For the longest time, I have been flopping from aspiration to aspiration, hoping I’ll just instantly be good enough for something and bam! Professional chef. Pow! Famous actress. Boom! Super smart lawyer. It would be that easy.

But it hasn’t been. In fact, I’ve found that a lot of the things I like to do: cook, act, argue… They’re all things I enjoy, and have been told I have a talent for, but realistically, they’re not things I can just be good enough at to sustain a living.

So, am I saying you should adopt the same sense of delusion for your aspirations?

Yes! Because there’s something else that I love to do. Something that I enjoy, and have been told of my talent, but something I never thought I could do for the rest of my life.

Write.

I know I love to tell stories because I started coming up with them before I even realized what I was doing. The fantastical “dreams” I’d share with my sister were no more than the unchecked creative mind spillage of young Isabella Rose. And all those funny parodies for my friends—where I’d recycle our personage and attitudes for characters with different names (but the same first letters, of course) and plop us in a zombie apocalypse scenario or a Jurassic World situation—they were all times I was writing and didn’t realize it.

So, let me explain why I’ve changed my tune about becoming an author.

At first I was weary of admitting to myself, then my sister, then my boyfriend, and ultimately, my mom, that I wanted to pursue a writing career. I mean, you’ve seen the market right? How, why, or when will anyone care about the stories I have to tell? And I’m only twenty-two, I can’t have the experience to know anything intelligent to say yet!

Those are the kind of thoughts that keep you from chasing your dreams. So instead, I’ve been focusing on the reality of it all.

I am twenty-two years old, and have been writing my entire life. That means I have almost twenty years of experience! And those silly stories, even then, I always had an audience of at least one (thanks for that, gab). So, it follows that no matter what, there will be at least one person who wants read my work.

And when they do… That’s when I catch the sleeve of my dreams.

Accepting reality means acknowledging the fear.

The moment I allowed myself to truly believe I might one day publish a book was a scary one. And why shouldn’t it be? As a creative, it is a terrifying thought that I’m going to try and live off of my heart and soul. I am going to put them out there, and hope someone wants to buy a tiny piece.

God, that scares me so bad.

Because what if nobody buys? What if I tear open my heart and pour out my soul and nobody wants a piece? What if nobody reads the things I write? Or worse, what if they do? What if they buy everything and want a return?

What if? What if? What if?

What if they love it? And I’m able to change the way someone looks at the world? What if someone finds solace in my poured out soul and feels seen by my torn open heart?

I could go all day. Making up what ifs both good and bad. Goodness knows I love coming up with things. And it’s times like these, I’m thankful I don’t have to be the first one to experience fear of failure.

“The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make one.” —Elbert Hubbard.

Wow Hubbard, you got me there.

If I’m going to fear anything, it’s forgetting my dreams, not following them.

I’m a writer. Through and through. The author part… is yet to be claimed, but I’m on my way. So why not allow myself to live in my delusions in the meantime? Why not say “I am going to publish a book” instead of “it’s my dream to?” Why not start a Substack and post little notes when I barely have any subscribers (sidenote: love you guys), and why not tell them what I want to do with my life?

Every day I come on here and declare that me being an author is a reality and not just a dream is a day that reality gets closer. I feel like I can taste it now. Faint and far away, but so so sweet.

I hope I keep it up. Even though it seems impossible, and I’m still very afraid, I’d like to look back on this with the satisfaction of having been good enough.

For now, you reading this is me being able to catch the sleeve of my dreams. So thanks, hold on, and let me take you with me where they lead.

---