We often bemoan the hooey balooey that comes with working toward our dreams; the inevitable red tape, the metaphorical report writing/-giving associated with being in the driver’s seat of our professional and/or personal dreams.
But the administrative obstacles that lead us in the direction of our goals, or those frameworks set in place in any and every industry that make us want to pull our teeth out…those are also our signposts. Signposts of success that mark our progression on an ever-upward ‘sky’s the limit’. Because for every metre of moving ahead, you pass fellow participants in the Race of Life. Some of them are weary but endearing. Some have all but given up. Now and then lies the remains of but a corpse, as dreams and aspirations returned to the dust from whence it came.
Others, though, are moving forward; next to us, right behind us, and up in front, are hustling little (and large!) marching wo/men propelling themselves toward their own individual Big Things. These are not athletes endowed with superpowers or an extra helping of luck, but merely those who have steadily been checking off-road markings one by one.
A stop street, in the eyes of this breed, isn’t as seen as the dead end of an idea, but real-time proof that the destination is still up ahead.
At the beginning of a sporting event, an alarm is sound to beckon the start of the race. Those who will be crowned winners are the ones who were urged on, most urgently and fervently, to answer its call. No matter the obstacles underway.
To follow a (seemingly impossible) dream, we can rest assured that the responsibility of finding an A-Z solution for its every fulfilment lies not with us. Its unfolding is due to a force far more well-connected than ourselves, which we’ll leave to the philosophers, religious leaders, and scientists to name and explain. No the onus on us is to take the first step out the door…and then just keep on walking.
If all roads lead to Rome, sooner or later you’re bound to walk right into it.
Want to know something even more astounding? Dreams are made of bouncing balls. It doesn’t matter how many times you bump it away from you due to fear, a feeling of undeservingness or lack of [fill in excuse], or an inability to act on what appears to be the icky stuff (but which leads to the incredible). The minute you pay it but a single energetic moment of attention – “I’d still like to…” “I wonder if I could…” “Imagine I…” – off it goes in search of opportunities to stare you in the face. Daring you to pick up your walking boots again.
Are you answering? Or are you sitting still, stationary in partnering with the open doors where before there appeared to be only walls?
Leap, they say (those who know). Leap, and the net will appear.