I've always held my dreams so close, afraid to release them into what feels like a monster of a world. But what is a dream if not the understanding that maybe anything is possible, that the universe could conspire to create a world that holds your creations with kindness and support, that breathes life into them? 15 days into February and still trying to write my "January post" I find myself filled with self-doubt in a spiral of avoidance at the thought of creating something for consumption, tightening my mental grip around it with the only thing willing me to loosen my grip being the belief that my dog and I will most likely be the only ones to read it and that I have hopefully done enough self-work to be grounded in the reality that the only validation I need is mine... and my dogs.
So welcome to my dream journal, my messy Bravo confessional, my uninhibited manifestation as a bathroom stall entry on the cusp of a new year. The place where I will keep my silly little thoughts until I can present them without feeling the need to call them silly. The intentional records of my feverish run towards my dreams. My field notes in what I hope will be a great exploration of possibility.
Boutadream is now 3 years old and when I set the intention for its creation, it was to follow every dream, big or small. To at least take a step towards fear, if not over it, but I have to admit that fear has slapped me in the face and called me a little bitch at every turn. For fear, I've abandoned my dreams, many times myself, my belief in possibility, and my trust in the universe. It sounds so sad and intense to read again, but it's also the reality of experiencing fear in a punitive society, and I have a few choices: keep working at it, or be a mother and live vicariously through my children. I don't know where I fall on the scale yet, but I hope you'll join me on the journey!
Here's to entry one, may it be everything it's meant to be, a catalyst or a marker, a motivation or a reaffirmation, a beginning or an end.
