Of all the terrible things in this world, I’m sure losing a dream is the most painful.
Its nothing tangible; not painful like a physical injury. Not like when you lose something material, e.g. your favorite silver ear rings or your passport or even a loved one. Because all these things are separate from you, outside of you. Your dream on the other hand had started out as an errant thought, maybe one to which you had paid no attention at first. And then you saw it grow and expand and occupy your whole being as though you were the dream and the dream was you.
It doesn’t matter if you knew from the start that the chances of this dream coming true are as remote as the chances of the cricket team winning the World Cup three times in a row. It doesn’t matter that you kept telling yourself not to hope, not to nurture it so much. It doesn’t even matter that this was one in a line of many dreams you’ve already seen shattered.
For a few hours or days or weeks or months, it had been your whole world; the reason that you hummed happy songs all the time and stared off into space more than usual, had been the only thing that mattered. When this one dream that had been growing in your subconscious, that kept nudging you at odd times–like a toothache that just wouldn’t go away, only a million times pleasanter–comes crashing down, you feel like the world doesn’t make sense anymore. It is like tearing away a part of your soul.
For a brief period of time in your decades of existence on the Earth, you feel cheated out of something precious. As though the whole Universe is working against you: you wonder why were you even born.
Thankfully however, the soul is more resilient than a torn sheet of paper that can never really be put back together exactly the same way again. The soul has been given the ability to regenerate; to heal all its hurts and pains, given time.
And so you realize you’d been running after a mirage in a desert, chasing your own shadow all this time. Pining after what was just fool’s gold.
But you’re only human, and to hope and to dream is your lot however much you may admonish yourself not to.
And so you dream again.
“The old dreams were good dreams. They didn’t always work out but I’m glad I had them”
-Robert Kincaid in ‘Bridges of Madison County’