Here is today’s little bit of flash.
Growing up, I always imagined I could be whatever I wanted. I could leap tall buildings with a single bound or sing on my favorite variety show or even be the first woman to go to the moon.
I thought I could save the world.
Then I grew up.
Some dreams changed, developed or were dropped because they were simply flights of fancy. As time marched on, with every passing year, it seemed to take a small chip out of every dream I ever had. Some years were only fragments, while others were huge chunks that dropped from my soul like soaking wet clothes falling to the ground.
Cynicism reigned supreme after a while, leaving me empty and lost and unsure of if I even had a dream to begin with.
Then the sun rose over my life, giving me a second chance on those dreams.
My children are now the creators of crayon masterpieces and recorder symphonies, but they remind me to dream big every single day. If not for myself, then for them. Their wonderfully magical optimism is an infectious disease that I have no desire to remedy.