Just a note

I'm here. Home. Norah Jones is singing to me and the livingroom is warmly lit and cozy. I'm sitting here wondering if it perhaps it's a dream? Perhaps all this isn't mine-the big backyard with the elusive peacock, the wide livingroom window, the little porch- perhaps I simply hoped until it felt real.
No, I believe it is real.
I have a real house.
I have a new job starting next week.
I'm pretty damn happy

I am ready

Sometimes it seems like the very act of rebuilding my life from the ruins it had fallen into required all my strength and life and passion until there was nothing left for dreams.
I remember when I dreamed of great things, of great writing and travels and noble works that helped save humanity. Somewhere along the way it was replaced with the desire to pay my bills and tuck money away into savings and find a better job and buy a house. The foundation of my dreams shifted into something that might be more realistic but that leaves me feeling as if I have abandoned a part of myself that strived for greater things.
The need to live outside the boundaries of the “American Dream” and give deeper meaning to my life than the white picket fence and brick house, has been pushed aside in the face of motherhood and sheer survival. I am just now recovering from an event that left me deeply wounded and maddeningly helpless. The pieces are starting to come together again, my heart is healing, I am gathering courage to once again dare to dream. To dream of things that might be beyond my finger tips but that I will strive for nonetheless. I still care. I still want to save humanity in some shape or form, preferably through the power of the pen, and I still have this gnawing hunger in my mind, my heart, to step out into this terrifying, dizzying, unexpected life and make a difference. To highlight the sufferings of others, to educate the ignorant, to motivate the masses. I want to be the catalyst to a change that is more than political or religious or regional but that is simply human.
I cannot live my life and reach the end knowing I have not done anything to change the things that need to be changed, or to at least attempt to.
Tonight, as I finished unpacking boxes that held bits of history that were both painful and joyful, I recovered elements of that dream. I collected the bits of hope like broken shards of glass, and I will re-melt them, remold them, into something new and stronger and more persistent than before.
I am ready to dream new dreams.