I Used To Have Dreams, Used To….

I believe every boy in his childhood imagined: hitting a home run in the World Series, throwing a Super Bowl touchdown, or making the last second shot in the NBA finals. I was just like them. Whole days could be spent counting down from ten to zero as I tossed a basketball toward the rim. Of course, if I missed, I was fouled and got to do it all over again.

By fifth grade, I knew I sucked at all competitive sports, and my dreams changed to bass fishing championships or owning a baseball card shop.

My dreams matured with me. By twenty-seven, I had given up most of my truly outlandish dreams but still held a few close like closing a million dollar gift, writing one publishable book, or being a State Representative.

I think dreams are good. They help take us away from the routine of life, and if they are achievable, a goal line.

I don’t have dreams anymore. I have fears. Fears are what keep running in my head.

I fear my left ventricle is failing.

I fear I will pass out every time I drive.

I fear being alone and an “episode” happening.

I fear walking down the hall.

I fear the doctors are missing whatever is wrong with me.

I fear slow, painful death.

I used to dream. I used to dream about success at work. I used to dream about being normal. Now, the only time I don’t fear is when I am in dreamland.