Imagine the Action: Revising the Plan

Of course, when it comes to connecting your passion to making your dreams, the bottom line is if it were easy, everyone would do it.
I imagine myself in my own little place down by a ravine in the woods. I came to this idea after reading one of Fulghum’s novels, which is described similarly but ah, I’m sure my picture is different.

I picture myself in a little log cabin. There’s a pot belly stove to keep me warm when the winter blows too cold. There’s electricity. There’s light and the ability to hear music. There’s a computer and a desk and some comfy surroundings that I have designed myself. There are bookshelves on the wall and some updated amenities, one couch and maybe a loveseat, a recliner and maybe an old jukebox and a lava lamp (the lamp is something I’ll save for another story) but mostly; there’s nothing else here but me and my thoughts, my plans and the pictures of come up with in my mind.

I see this in the middle of the woods and surrounded by the mountains. There’s no one around but me. There’s no interruptions and the list of manmade sources are minimal. There’s no interference. There’s nothing but my own creations to keep me company.

Come to think of it, do you know how they say, “Oh well. I guess it’s back to the old drawing board?” Well, this is the drawing board in my head. This is a place where I go in my thoughts. I am currently building this as we speak.
I come here when it seems as if all is lost. I come here when it seems as if I have to revamp my plan and gain a different perspective. 

I am a true believer that a person who loves what they do is a person that never has to work for a living. And I get it!
I remember the first time someone told me this. I offered them a strong opinion and an expletive about their mother. 

The truth is there are always options with life. This does not mean the options are attractive. This does not mean we will like the options. This does not mean our options cannot dovetail into the spawn of our dreams; however, in the aftermath of an experiment that fell apart, options are all we have.
Like them or not, options are always available. And by the way, even if we refuse to choose, still, we’ve made a choice. 

This is why I’ve built my own little studio/laboratory. This is where I assemble the parts to my trick. This is where I do my test runs before I debut my display. And there are times when I pull this off without a pause. There are times when I pull this off but the universe is yet to be receptive. And, adversely, there are times when I go for it and come up short. Hence, I say “Back to the old drawing board.”

There were people in my life who, in my interpretation, they laughed at me. There were people who told me what I would and what I would never do. There were people who stood in the way of my dreams and there were people who looked to help me with my dreams. There were people who bet on me and people who bet against me. And sure, I’ve been kicked when I was down. I’ve had the wind knocked out of me. I’ve bled. I’ve blistered and I’ve quit at least a thousand times, but hem and haw or complain and cry; I still come back to the old drawing board.

I’ve had predictions that proposed that I would fail. I’ve had people tell me that I’ll never make it because of my lack of schooling. I’ve been introduced to people who said I was meaningful. They would pat me on the head and say “Good job” and forget about me before the door closed behind them. I’ve had opportunities where I only got so far. I came so close but in the end, I had to go back to the drawing board. 

I suppose this is why I imagine my little cabin in the woods. I suppose that I envision this to promote a sense of comfort because the fact is if it was easy to make dreams come true; everyone would do it.
This leads me to the fact that I am like anyone else in this world. I am a real person. I have a fear of the sands in the hourglass. I have a fear that I will miss my shot and I say this because I’ve missed my shot before. This is not self-deprecating by any means. No, this is honesty.
I say this because I never realized that time is of the essence. Time is crucial and critical; yet, I find that all too often, we waste our time with a poorly used focus.

I was asked, “Do you even know what makes you happy?”
And for reference, I was asked this by a whitehaired man in a small home office. I was asked this by a person who has diplomas on the wall and letters after his name.

Do I know what makes me happy?
Sure. I know what makes me happy.

Defying odds. Beating a system of thinking that beat me for nearly all of my life.
I enjoy creating programs for people.
I like seeing the expression on people’s faces when I connect them with the topics in my presentations.
I’m happy when I can make people think and feel.
I am happy when I see a person who swore they could never take that first step; yet, there they are – steps into their new life, happy, healthy and without a needle in their arm or a bottle in their mouth. 
I’m happy when I see a person recover from a loss or overcome their own doubts.
I am happy when I’m there to see a person find their own redemption, which has nothing to do with me or my involvement per se. Perhaps my guilty pleasure is knowing that by my assistance, I replaced something that I once stole from someone else.

Ah, but empathy. Empathy is not for the faint of heart. Empathy is a bitch and I do not envy the empath or the empathetic heart but I, myself, am empathetic and an empath as well.
Then again, I believe this is true for most who live with depressive thinking. You feel everything. You wish you didn’t but still.
You  . . . feel . . . everything.
There are so many times when it is obvious that life would be lived easier if we were stoic and unmoved. There would be no addiction to passion. There would be no dependency or good news or bad; there would only be news and that would be life. And life would be fine. We’d have a few laughs. We’d cry a few cries but nothing would be so detrimental and nothing would seem so catastrophic. 

When asked what would make me happy, I thought about my little cabin. I thought about this and the location I’d choose for it.
The little cabin would only be a few clicks away from a big pasture, which leads to a barn and some bunkhouses. There would be a main house and in the center of the property, there would be a gazebo. I would make this the center of a great lawn – and when the summer came and the fireflies were out, this would be the place where we’d gather for a cool glass of iced tea or lemonade (or both). I view this because at the close of my life, this is what I want to create. This is the last place I want to hang my hat.

I want to create a place where people can go and live and be themselves. I want to build a farm where kids who feel alone or abandoned could live and find themselves in the perfect company. 
I want to build a place where people who feel too much pain or live with too much doubt can live here, with us, and they can learn what they need to learn. They can stay or go or live here and overcome. I want to open this place so that people who’ve been scarred can help a person to avoid the same wounds.

There are names of people who I carry in my heart. They are gone now and while their end was not my responsibility, I choose to show them a level of accountability because I was there when the madness started.
I want to take away what I had given and replace what I stole. I want to build a farm.
I already have a name picked out. 
I want to build this place to reconcile with myself. I want to allow those who feel similarly to do this for themselves. But more, I want to build this family for those who’ve felt out of place. Yet, they have so much to offer the world except no one told them about this. 

We would be a school. We could teach fun classes. Not just the typical curriculum of reading, writing or arithmetic. The students can teach me. I can teach them. We can teach each other. And maybe we can learn better ways of how to shop at the grocery store. Maybe we can find a better way to keep our sanity in an insane world. Or, maybe we can find better recipes for rainy days. Maybe we can find ways to build and create and beat the depressive ideas, which say: This is all you’ll ever be.
Maybe this place can encourage us all to be more.

I have this dream and someday, I hope to build it.
But for now . . .
I’m back to the drawing board and working on a new plan 

(to make me happy).