Is it worth it to dream?? // An Essay
/Is it worth it to dream??
I just got my 2022 planner and one of the front pages has the words ‘wish list’ at the top and a few short lines where I am supposed to write my hopes and goals for the year. This single page has sent me into full panic mode because I am scared to ruin its few lines with things that may not come to fruition.
I was never scared of dreaming big. In high school I was going to go to NYU, join the peace corps, go to med school, become a heart surgeon, get the top scholarship at BYU (when I realized NYU wouldn’t work). I was going to learn everything about everything. I actually bought a binder and titled it ‘the great big book of everything’ (after a kids show, yes) and was doing my research and logging it inside. I wanted to learn how everything works in the body, the details of all the world wars, I only wanted to read the classics and nothing ‘fluffy’. I wore vintage clothes and ruined my eyes with some prescription cat eye glasses I found at a thrift store. I was shy, got told I looked mean and intimidating all the time, but I was confident and knew who I was and what I wanted.
I got in to school (on a lower scholarship than I hope but still a scholarship), and my high school dreams slowly devolved. I realized I didn’t want to work hard enough for for med school, and honestly didn’t love the idea with working around sick people (see: my intense fear of throw up). I never got around to the peace corps. Instead I did a couple of study abroads.
During my time in London there was a hot second where I thought I wanted to be a fashion designer. I’d gone to an exhibit of Princess Diana’s dresses at Kensington palace and thought, “yeah, I could do this”. I bought a book that taught how to draw dresses, started researching FIDM, started buying bits and bobs for my own designs. I drew (I am not artistic in that way), I even sewed a rough hewn headband, I tried to wear the 16 pairs of heels that I had packed around the city. I bought vintage dresses on portobello road. That was my path. (Insert a million eye rolls at myself for this one.)
When I got back from London I had mostly gotten past that phase. I added on Art History as a minor and kept on trucking with Physiology and Developmental Biology as my major. I fumbled my way through, and while I enjoyed my classes my GPA was not doing great. When I did my second semester abroad in Siena it finally clicked. I loved Art. I loved Art History. I wanted to visit every single museum and spend hours there. It made sense and was easy for me. I officially changed my major.
After I got back from Siena, we got married and I delved deep in to the upper level Art History classes. I had a new purpose. I wanted to be an expert on all art. I had an Uber fashionable and even more knowledgeable teacher named Heather whose expertise was early 19th Century French Art. She had gotten a PhD, travelled all over the world, was a published author, and did it all with 5 kids. I wanted to be her.
I aced all my classes. Went to an Art History conference in New York City. Went to every museum I could and took scrupulous notes in a moleskin notebook as I walked through (second eye roll, but I am who I am). Jarman and I applied for Masters degrees in various schools in England and seriously considered moving there when he got in to a program in Edinburgh. We went to Washington, D.C. for a semester and I interned at the Museum for Women in the Arts. I researched and wrote and lived the museum life. I went to artist talks and every exhibit I could find. I was going to get a masters and then a PhD and be an Art History professor.
…
…
It’s not a sad story from there. But life happened. And I have every. single. thing. I could ever want. I live in a dream place with my husband of ten years and my three amazing kids. We have powered through life and gotten through things I would have never imagined. We are best friends and are truly, truly happy. What didn’t kill us made us stronger.
All the cliches, none of the sarcasm.
For the past number of years I realized making grandiose goals at the beginning of the year was no longer serving me. I needed to simplify. I had so much stress in my little bubble of life I couldn’t go beyond it. And that was definitely the right choice for me.
When my brother in law asked what our goals are for the New Year I pulled up my list that I review at the beginning of the year. It’s a solid list. It has all of the day to day things I need to be and do. It is simple and stress free. Doesn’t require much thought, just a little trying harder to be better every day. I titled it…
Get your shit together Carol. (A Bridesmaid quote in case you’re wondering)
Be a FUN and PATIENT mom.
Be a kind and giving wife
Eat lots of healthy food
Figure out how to add working out into life consistently
Keep reading. But add in the scriptures too.
Make time for the temple
Come up with a plan to save money. Be smarter about spending it.
Find ways to be generous
This year something shifted.
At this time a year ago I was ready to quit. I didn’t want to be a photographer anymore and was happy not working.
But over the course of 2021 that slowly evolved. I reached out to a planner I adored and asked if I could shoot for her. We did our first shoot together in February. This led to new opportunities and work and expansion. I enjoyed it; I freaking loved it. I slowly got my mojo back. Each opportunity led to something else and culminated in getting a dream shoot that I never would have dared to dream for myself.
And that lit something in me.
I wanted to start dreaming again.
I wanted to continue to shift my business into more commercial and fashion work. I bought magazines to flip through and find my dream clients that I could pin up on a wall. I wanted to have a destination and a goal.
I never opened the magazines.
What was once hope and excitement immediately turned into crippling anxiety and fear. I wasn’t good enough. I’ve failed at all of my dreams before. There’s no point in reaching. I need to be present for my family.
I feel it in my body. My chest aches, my hands tingle, my vision is blurred. I can’t focus on what’s in front of me. I’m short with my kids and shorter with Jarman.
So I stopped. I let myself dive in to what was in front of me. I went on trips, took my kids to Disneyland, took the work that I was asked to do. I chilled out. I put it out of my mind.
And then, we bought a house.
A goal I honestly never thought we’d make it to. At the beginning of the year my small goal I made for myself was to have $10,000 in savings by the end of the year. I knew it was a safe goal, I hoped I could go beyond it.
I didn’t want to write it down, say it out loud, and then fail.
But we did it. And then we saved more. And then we bought a house.
And it ignited something in me.
If I can do this impossible thing what else can I do???
I think it’s in my nature to dream.
But what does it cost me?
The second I opened that planner and read the words ‘wish list’ and had a spot to write down the things that I think would be amazing all of the anxiety came rushing back and has been existing in my body since.
Is it selfish to dream??
Am I dreaming for the wrong reasons??
Before social media I never questioned my motives. Now I worry I’m doing things for the sake of the photo. But, when I look back at who I was, who I am, this is it.
I like to dream.
I like to get dressed. I have always cared about the aesthetics of the space around me. I have always planned, and written, and photographed, and organized. I love to shop. I love to decorate. I love my people.
None of it is fake.
And it’s in me to be a dreamer.
So can I just let go of the fear of failing? The fear of what it looks like. I’ve failed before and I’ll fail again. And at the time it didn’t feel like failing, it felt like a shift. That’s ok right?
So let me dream. Let me go through the magazines, find my dream clients, say out loud the things that I want. Let me manifest. Let me put it out in the world.
Let me fill out my wish list with feeling in my hands and a calm heart.
I want to be a dreamer again.
