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When You've Lost the Will to Dream
"I stopped dreaming thirty years ago, " the old man said, "when I started seeing the world as it was rather than as it could be."
I could feel the old man's pain.  My mind, clouded with cynicism, had begun to shut out the dreams of my youth.  Oh, I know some of those dreams were wild and fantastic, but none were impossible, really.
"What happened to you that made you stop dreaming," I asked him.
"I settled with what life handed me, rather than the life I could have created."
"What would you do differently?"
The old man sighed, and with a tear in his eye said,  "I would have followed that still, small voice that kept telling me what I was created to do, and not listened to the average folks of the world."
I turn forty-two next month.  Forty wasn't bad.  Forty-one, okay.  But, forty-two, whoa.  For some reason this birthday bothers me.  I'm closer to death than I have ever been, and I'm average.  My dreams were never average.  I hate average, yet I find myself, like the old man, inching towards that comfort zone of accepting what life is offering me rather than creating the life ... more

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