"Dream? Give me your hand."
At one point in my life, several years ago, my entire identity was defined by the dreamer in me, and it was during this phase of my life that I discovered the extraordinary writings of Neil Gaiman. The dreamer in me clung to his words so desperately, aching to read every sentence. And reread every sentence, just as I still do. He dreamt the world the way I had dreamt the world. Full of magic and impossibilities turned realities. With just a touch of darkness. What can I say? I like twisted whimsy and magic.
Somewhere along the timeline of my life, though, the dreamer in me began to die a sluggish and agonizing death. Maybe it was the pitiless reality of being an adult, although I doubt it. I became an adult much too early in my life and still maintained the facility to dream. Perhaps it was the inevitable increase in maturity that accompanies age. Perhaps I simply became disillusioned with life and gave up hope. Perhaps the practical Capricorn in me finally consumed the dreamer. Again, I doubt all of these things. When I look back on the last days I remember still being defined by my ability to dream, I was a single woman. Perhaps the real reason the dreamer disappeared in me was because I put her out to pasture in favor of my own domestic stability.
Shit. If only I had known the old gal would still be kicking and screaming out there all these years later.
When my finals concluded last week, I made a decision to spend my break getting reacquainted with the one man I will follow anywhere, good old Neil. Immediately upon opening my copy of Neverwhere, I was flooded by a few staggeringly intense emotions. Damn. Neil has a way of doing that to me. You know how a song can instantly transport you back to a certain place in time and bring back all of those old emotions? Yeah, Neil has that kind of power over me as well. He reminded me of a part of myself that I didn’t even realize I had missed so intensely. Ever since, I feel as though I have been in the comfort of my childhood home; I’ve been dreaming again.
Neil gets a portion of the credit for this, but so must the theatre and a woman named Sheila, who, as I type this, is texting me about the dinner we will be sharing this evening. Sheila recruited me, a few months ago, to be a part of her show, She Loves Me; a show she was directing as her master’s thesis project. It had been two years since I had been on a stage with all the lights blazing. My decision to leave the theatre a couple of years ago occurred simultaneously with putting the dreamer out to pasture. But it was my intense love for Sheila that brought me back onto the stage and the extended arms of the family members I had, for too long, ignored.
Theatre people possess an incredible amount of creativity, dedication and passion. I soaked up every ounce of their spirits and was reminded that I am, despite the period of time I fought it, a theatre person through and through. And damn if I ain’t proud of that. So I’ve decided I’m going to stick around the theatre for a little while longer, and see what kinds of dreams my rotting imagination can conjure up. I have volunteered to help with Sheila’s next show, but this time I’ll behind the scenes, serving as costumer. I have begun to feel like myself again and I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy getting reacquainted.
"It doesn't matter that you never find it. It's the dreams that keep you going.”
My dear Dream, welcome back. It’s been a long time.
