I used to think that Living the Dream was my goal, that when all of the pieces fell into place, I would be there. I would be doing work that I love, and my people and I would be healthy and happy. I would have the resources to learn, grow, play, and be a force for healing and empowerment in the world.
It was as if I’d heard of a sacred and magical land out in the middle of nowhere that, if I could get there, would be absolutely perfect for me. Perhaps the perfection would be that all of my favorite foods grew with ease, or that my body would magically sync with the rise and fall of the sun. Maybe the surf would rage and rest depending on my mood. I believed that the place would support me, and that my me-ness would be useful there.
Living the Dream would mean I’d arrived, and even though I expected to encounter storms and other wild obstacles–romantically crafting the intensity my stubborn soul secretly desires–it would always be exactly what I needed to live my very best life. It meant finding my paradise, the place where everything was exactly true for me and my dreams could be my reality.
I spent many, many moons searching for that place–exploring, studying, and even talking to people who seemed like they were living their dream to find out how they got there. Finding paradise became my obsession. As I searched for mine, I grew and changed. Every quest revealed a new piece of self and integrating it into myself guided me from one place to the next, each one was more true for me than the last. Life progressed, becoming clearer and in many ways easier along the way. I felt more happy and more healthy with each move.
One day, I discovered what I believed to be my paradise way off in the distance. I didn’t know how to get there but I was certain that once I did, I would be Living the Dream.