We Dream the Dreams: An Open Letter to You

So this is my front yard in Breckenridge.

As the dog and I circled the park it came to me, clear as a shaft of light between dark trees. These dreams we have, they are alive and well and right in front of us, right in our very hands. And that today is a day for dreaming, big and wide. Today is a day for pulling dreams out of the sky and living them exactly right now.

My dream is a quiet house with wooden floors and a tiny desk in front of a bright window. In winter a fireplace cracks the time. There are endless pots of spiced coffee. In summer a screen door bangs shut when you come inside for a glass of lemonade. There are spontaneous picnics and drives to nowhere. In the springtime we consider the fat that’s gathered around our middles and decide to go for long walks next to the creek in the morning and in the afternoon. By the time fall rolls around we are discussing a menu for Thanksgiving and drying flowers in the shed. There is good conversation on a very deep couch and even better meals being made in a kitchen full of sunlight.

There is a big garden. Some years it’s well tended when I’m more interested in avoiding writing and some years it’s only got volunteer tomatoes because the writing is going well. There is a bookshelf crowded with classics and new favorites and at least one spine with my name on it. Lots of pictures line the walls of smiling faces in France, on hot air balloons, driving across country in a van, in the woods, at a beach house. There is one great piece of art by someone quite talented and several small ones I’ve painted myself.

Maybe this house and this garden waits for me next year, or maybe in the next life, or maybe I even have all of these things right now if I’m willing to look close enough. I walk the dog by a creek every morning near the room I rent in Breckenridge. There is even a fireplace in the house. In Denver we sit outside when it’s warm and go for lots of long walks. In Baltimore there is a little writing desk near a bright window and whole days to procrastinate over. In New York there is infinite inspiration for writing. And everywhere, always, there are good meals to be had and even better conversation. And those pictures on the wall, those adventures are being lived right at this very moment.

Breakfast in Baltimore.

Our dreams are not so far, so out of reach, as we often allow ourselves to believe. What is it that you want? That you’ve dreamed about? Would you like to find a moment of quiet to sit and talk? How about a trip to see an old friend or an old building or an old mountain? Write it down and then look around.

These are the dreams we live. We’ve gotten what we’ve asked for, we’re living what we chose. Of course, there is death and accidents and opportunities we never expected. Sometimes this feels like winning the lottery and sometimes this feels like getting singled out in a crowd.

But the thing about dreams is there’s always another one to be pulled out of the sky.

Right now, at this moment, one of my dreams is being fulfilled because you are reading this. Thank you, I love you, dream on.






One thought on “We Dream the Dreams: An Open Letter to You

  1. This is beautiful, Gwen. Keep making those dreams reality, too! I just know there will be a spine on that bookshelf with your name on it. You are awesome!


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