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I used to have lots of writing dreams--all the usual, I suspect. Awards. Getting to hang out with all my favorite writers. Selling lots of books. Now I'd just like the space--in terms of actual time and mental space--to sink deep into my writing in a way that brings me joy and satisfaction. That's it. Maybe someone else would read it and like it. That would be nice, too.

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Oh! Same here, same here! I begin to wonder if the writing dreams were even ever mine, or simply thrust on me because I loved the quiet and the scratch of pen on paper, and coming to understand a bit of myself and the world, a bit more.

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So true--were these my dreams or the dreams I thought I should have? And, yes, the quiet of writing in a noisy world is such a gift.

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This from my new Substack, Never Give Up, describes a big change in my dreams:

"When I wrote a memoir, Trading Fathers, a few years ago, I expected to find a readership and a new career of leading Christian retreats. I expected to talk a lot about forgiveness and grief; about the long obedience in the same direction; about how to recover from a challenging childhood.

That worked for a few years. Then, in 2012, I got tired of the marketing required to make a success. And I asked God, “May I stop?” When he said I could, I asked, “And what do I do with the rest of my life?”

“You can have the childhood you missed.”

Really? That had to be God. That thought didn’t sound like me.

And so, for the last few years, I have read a lot of novels, traveled, and not taken on much responsibility.

Unlike the previous twenty years of providing psychotherapy as a licensed MSW psychotherapist, I carried significantly less weight.

What now?

When the pandemic began, in March, 2020, I asked God, “What can I contribute?” And I began to write weekly prayers that slowly assumed a particular shape and began to be part of our liturgy at our small non-denominational congregation.

It’s now been three years of writing a weekly Psalm, with no plans to stop. I’ve begun to make videos of reading my psalms, with images and music. And, gleaning from fifty years of meditation, I’ve started offering Thursday Thoughts, an image with a thought related to emotionally healthy Christianity.”

I’m grateful for the years of rest and now taking up more writing. We’ll see where God takes me.

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I’d say my dreams didn’t change until I got to make them real. When I did, other dreams popped up, and they still keep doing so continuously! I guess that's how the Romantic mind works. But I couldn't be happier! It makes me want to go on living this strangely beautiful journey we're all in.

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I’m a retired teacher. Loved it, loved the students but have absolutely no desire to go back in the classroom again. However, my subconscious or wherever dreams come from, thrusts me back there time and time again, usually accompanied by anxiety over incomplete lessons, engaging the students, not enough time, and occasionally, the disruption of badly behaved kids. When I wake up from these, I shake my head, laugh, and revel in my now retired situation.

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Dreams have changed for sure! Except for one - becoming a published writer. Between the time I was in high school when that dream started, till now, when I have three books published, the ways and means of achieving that dream changed. I had three children in the middle of the dream, but kept writing. The interesting thing about dreams is they can be whatever and whenever you want. Master of your own ship and all that. So, it doesn't matter when your dreams happen, the best part is the journey to achieve them, and then the adaptations afterwards. Without dreams, how do we challenge ourselves?

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I am always amazed when something that I thought a lot about as a child suddenly becomes real. I rarely set a specific goal. That never goes well.

I've realized that I just need to keep putting in foot in front of the other, pursue things that interest me, and be open to possibilities as they come up.

God seems to bless that approach.

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Like Robyn, I had the literary writer dreams. In desperate moments, those morphed to "make a living as a writer." I have achieved that end, as a writer in academia. Surprisingly, I also achieved a dream to live in Savannah (one location out of many where I would like to "visit or live" in an old high school journal). Now that I am a mom, the dreams are practical: own a house, pay off debt, have some retirement, keep my white boychild alive through high school and make sure that he's kind to everyone. Maybe when I get through this "realism" phase, I'll dream again of writing for pleasure. Right now, my creative impulses are channeled into hosting a local radio show and little craft projects. These things are enough for now. They keep my creative spirit afloat in the midst of adulting.

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Up until I graduated and had my first (and thankfully only) manic episode, my dream was to work as a consultant at Boston Consulting Group (rather specific, but I'd somehow fallen in love with the company over the years). The manic episode and subsequent hospitalisation and complete identity collapse led to an existential shift in priorities: what mattered was no longer career, but relationships (romantic and otherwise). Since then (about 2015), my dream has been to have solid, fulfilling relationships in my life. And once I'd met my partner in 2018, the dream has been just to live as long a life with him as possible. He's quite some years older than me, so the dream is a little precarious, but that's the dream. A long way from a top consultant job at BCG!

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When I was in college in NYC, I dreamed of working in the entertainment industry. I was doing all the right things - writing for the alternative campus paper, multiple internships, building good connections…. Then I spent the summer after my junior year on a service trip to South Africa which led me to Peace Corps which led me to a career in public health/public service. It’s not my dream, but it feels good to use my skills in the social justice realm. But every now and then I wonder where I’d be if I had followed that urge to keep working in television or music or if I moved to London instead of Côte d’Ivoire after graduation…

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I’m a retired teacher. Loved it, loved the students but have absolutely no desire to go back in the classroom again. However, my subconscious or wherever dreams come from, thrusts me back there time and time again, usually accompanied by anxiety over incomplete lessons, engaging the students, not enough time, and occasionally, the disruption of badly behaved kids. When I wake up from these, I shake my head, laugh, and revel in my now retired situation.

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I probably dream, but don't remember. I want to remain awake and enjoy each moment.

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I still have dreams, because I still have hope. When I think about past dreams for me and for my family, I have shifted more to what is rather than what was expected, if that makes any sense.

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I also had literary writer dreams. They changed a lot during the pandemic. I haven’t given up on them, but my priorities have shifted.

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My *sleep* dreams are changing in ways I like: incorporating skills from video games. From Zelda: A Link Between Worlds: avoiding enemies in 3D world by merging 2D into the wall. From Dragon Quest Builders: breaking up the world around me into its constituent blocks. And building with them. This is very cool and better than any dreams as in life goals.

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I’m afraid mine have gone from dreams deferred to dreams that have died.

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