dreams and reality

I have travelled before. It is certainly a desire of mine to be touched by the experiences offered by another country or community and its culture or people. I want to visit many places in this expansive world, both near and far, and I am sure I will. There is only the assurance of time for anyone of us, and although the exact quantity of time remaining is ambigous, it is our choice how we spend it.
When Ashley and I travel we tend to get a little carried away about our trips. We study guides and map out full programs along the most efficient routes, in order to fit it all in. We generally come home satisfied that we got to "see" all that we wanted to see, and more, but seeing is one thing, but what about "being"? Well I guess that is where "the dream" comes in.
I have been told a couple of things about "the dream". Not the dreams we have when we are asleep, but the things we would like to see happening in our experience of life.
I have been told that everyone has to have a dream to keep them going - to keep them interested and motivated. A dream or ultimate goal enables us to plug away at the daily grind, endure hardship, and survive - Viktor Frankl discusses this at depth throughout his book Man in Search for Meaning - a book I thoroughly recommend.
Another perspective tells us that a dream is not something that we should actually achieve. Rather, it is something you simply hope to achieve, by thinking about our dream often; imagining every detail; seeing ourselves 'there', basking in the moment of its full, untainted-by-reality, glory. The dream itself, rather than its achievement, gives life meaning. If fulfilled then we would no longer have anything to live for, and besides, the reality of the dream could be utterly disappointing and we would have wasted our life on an unworthy dream - so says the 'crystal merchant/teahouse owner' in The Alchemist (another recommendation). Well find ANOTHER dream, is my response to that, geez!
So....my dream. My dream was to live overseas for at least one year. Ok, done! You can send me to my grave. Just joking.....
Yes that was a dream of mine. I know it wasn't that exotic, people do it all the time. Although I haven't yet returned, so I guess I am still living out my dream. It was a worthy dream, because it wasn't exactly easy to pull off. It took some courage to do and I have learnt much from the experience. But now that this dream has been attained, I do need to grab hold of the next rung and reach for something else along these monkey bars of life.
I think I have had two dreams, maybe more if I really think about it. The living overseas one, which emerged as a teenager, probably inevitable considering all those pen friends!
But the dream to be a writer is something I have held for as long as I can remember, moreso from the enjoyment that writing has always brought me. Mum, Dad and Grandma will recall that I wrote lots even as a toddler (hee hee). I later moved to writing limericks and short poems for Possum Page (a kids creative purge in the local Sunday newspaper. Quantity rather than quality was the general mainstay of the Possum Pages I am afraid- it had to be said!). If published you were sent a certificate and sometimes a prize. While some of my "work" was published, as were teh lovely drawing that my brother always seemed to produce, I can't actually remember any of them to provide an example (they were probably awful not to mention embarassing).
In high school I wrote letters to friends, morbid private poetry full of teenage angst, and silly stories for English class. As a young adult I continued the poetry, but the creative side got lost for a few years, while I wrestled my mind into the rigidity and discipline of the "anything but creative", academic writing. I did write a thesis, and that was my saving grace during the whole academic phase, I must say!!!!
Today I write this blog; I email friends; I have attempted to renew my passion for bad poetry writing; I have even entertained writing short stories, and childrens books, but the dream of becoming a career writer remains as elusive as ever. And since all other career aspirations appear to have been blocked by a higher power to ensure I never take one step down that shaky and questionable road, I am more strongly noticing the writing theme in my life and am testing its importance to me.
Maybe I will never be a great writer, maybe I will have nothing published bar my lonely thesis, which sits in some dank and infrequented corner of the university library (full of my now trade mark editting paux pas - oops), but it is a dream, a worthy dream, and a dream that keeps me going.