Wishes and Daydreams

Unknown-1 Some time ago, the hospital in my small town ran an ad in the local newspaper to introduce the community to a recently hired doctor. In it, the doctor answered questions about his life, training, and experiences.

When asked about his interests, he explained that while growing up in Oklahoma, he developed an appreciation for working the land and outdoor activities. He then added, “Some days I think all I want is a really nice tractor.”

I suppose all of us are susceptible to daydreams: crossing the ocean in a canoe, being a horse whisperer, owning a tractor.

I like to imagine what strangers long for: Does the lady in the supermarket line picture herself dancing the Nutcracker? Does the teenager riding his bike by my house imagine himself scoring the winning touchdown in a Super Bowl? Is the politician working the crowd thinking about the songs he’d like to write some day?

My mother sometimes voiced her daydream: “I wish I could have one day, an entire day, when you children could get along. Just one day!”


Dad longed for something grander in scope. He wanted to pack us all up in the questionable vehicle of the moment and move to Alaska.

I, too, had a dream. For forty years, as I helped others become writers, I fantasized about sitting with an introspective look in front of a typewriter in a quiet, bare space — like photographs I’d seen of Ernest Hemingway during his Paris years — and writing whatever I could find inside me.

I never imagined fame and wealth. I never thought, “I’d like to write novels or poems or maybe messages for greeting cards.” I merely thought about a quiet place where I could give myself to the act of writing.

I don’t remember Mom enjoying an argument-free day when my siblings and I were young; but, as adults, we frequently found our way, singly or together, to her home, where we visited with the woman we loved and never once quarreled.

Dad never lived in Alaska, but his daughter Barbara made her living in high school classrooms in Anchorage and Homer; and Dad visited her often.

I don’t know if the doctor has a tractor.

images-5I realized my daydream. Though I don’t look like Hemingway and my home doesn’t resemble his Paris office, I retired and began to write, losing myself in it as he did. And every time I sit quietly with my computer to do so, I’m grateful.

It’s never too late for your dreams to come true.



25 thoughts on “Wishes and Daydreams

  1. I had to take two buses to get to high school. Like you, I frequently fantasizes about the other passengers, imagining what their lives might be like . As for me, I always dreamed of traveling.


    • Now you are living your dream and sharing it with others on your wonderful blog.Hurray for you. I’m glad to know that there are others who imagine the lives of strangers. It’s a game I’ve played for years.


  2. It seems that many of us baby boomers with our “busy, busy” lives have let our dreams—both big and small—fall by the wayside.
    This post is an eloquent reminder that it’s never too late to realize a dream.


      • I love it. I had to start from scratch though. I quit high school to go into the service, this was back when they needed all the cannon fodder they could get, so I had to learn all the rules again. I was surprised that I enjoyed that part. I study now for a couple of hours every morning. I wanted to be like Hemingway–until I found out that he stuck a shotgun in his mouth and went cosmic. I’ll skip that part for now.


      • Yes, and a few others that didn’t make the front page. I did 9 years. Thanks so much for the kind words. That means a lot coming from a former teacher.


  3. This is a wonderful thing to hear, Beulah. I’m so glad you’re writing and I very much enjoy your posts.

    I was never a teacher, but when I made friends on Gather (which is closed to us now), I found great joy in helping my writing friends get published. Elsie was the last one I helped and she is estatic. It took her almost 88 years to finally do it.


  4. It is interesting to think back on my dreams for the future. Now the future is here, and I am living a life of which I never dreamed. I am so happy with this life that my other dreams seem distant and inconsequential. A’int that a kicker?


  5. I had a friend whose Dad farmed in Central Manitoba, before he could afford good equipment he would come in, hands all cut up, her mom said sometimes jacket and shirt frozen to his back. When he retired he bought a bulldozer for a hobby, because he loved the smell of the soil. So he bulldozed things. I am a very lucky person, as I got to travel when young. When I write I recall the old man, my stories the smell of the soil.


    • Love this comment, Sheila. I had a brother who also loved the smell of soil and feared he would one day give in to his desire to taste it. I don’t know if he ever did. I’ll have to ask.


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