On Dreaming :: Bright Lights and Chasing Big Things

I married a rockstar. Hair, natural and long, the reason for some of his best tips. He had a rendition of Rocketman that would break your heart.

Easy on the eyeballs, too. 

He played at local bars. Never paid for his drinks or company. Our own late night star.

But that was years ago; we were 18, newly in love, oblivious to most worldly pains.

Had never even changed a diaper.

Now, he sings to them. The ones we created. They croon along, warn me not to join in, and feel like part of daddy’s band.

Their stage, our over-Febreezed sofa. And I make sure the beverages are never watered-down like a good bar manager/mother. 

Recently, we went see one of our favorite musicians perform. For me, it was a pretty fantastic time. For him, I suspect it was a bit more. 

As he sang along, I leaned in to him, just to hear his voice blend with theirs. I could close my eyes and be right back in that bar. I have a feeling he was there, too. 

Today, he is a successful consultant, surrounded by computers and clever people. And I know he is proud of himself for everything he has accomplished since those bar days. 

But I also know he wonders. In another life, what would it have been like to stay on that stage? Maybe just one more song? A slow one, this time. 

He wasn’t as lucky; he married a flighty dreamer. A traveler, ambitious {albeit, lazy} wordsmith, someone yearning for the applause from a well-lit theatre or to see her name on a book spine. 

And I don’t cook. God, I hope he read the small print.

As parents, I think our dreams shift a little while awaiting the birth of our first child. Or maybe they just fall behind our new hopes and wishes for a safe birth and healthy baby. 

It’s really hard to think past that. 

But those original dreams remain, hopefully, politely hiding while we learn our new roles of “mother” and “father” and “boob milk hoarder”. We start wondering how we can do it all; continue to dream AND keep other people alive. And then the baby enters the world and we don’t have a moment to decide whether we can do it all, we aren’t awake enough to coexist with our dreams and our children AND the dirty dishes.

At least, I wasn’t. 

And I think this dilemma exists for all types of mothers; working and stay at home or a bit of both. When I had my first child, I owned a business in New Orleans. When I had my second child, I was a stay-at-home mama living abroad.

Both times, I made the decision to pause. The dreaming could wait. 

But now, I am starting to see how important it is for my children to know my dreams. And, to see me following mine. 

And I’m remembering what it felt like to dream without fear, just lots of silly hope. I’m remembering because my five year old son wants to be a singing subway driver when he grows up. And a scientist. And, if there’s time, a mechanic. He tells me about future experiments and cars. I tell him, I can’t wait, baby. 

My three year old wants to be a puppy. Or elephant. Depends on the day. 

My kids are young, 3 and 5, but they talk about their big and little dreams with a wildness I crave and a desire I miss. 

So, I’ll encourage my husband to sing more. I doubt he’ll grow out his hair again {but to be fair, that sounds more like one of my dreams}. And settle for being just a groupie. 

And I will write. In front of them. Even for just a moment. And I’ll be proud of whatever makes it on the page. 

Likely, a story about a heroic subway engineer and his sidekick elephant. In honor of the ones I dream bigger for.