most days i wake up feeling so overwhelmingly grateful for all the things i have in my life. and some days that makes me feel guilty. i don’t deserve it anymore than anyone else does. i mean sure i think i’m remarkable in my own way (no time for modesty, i’m fairly fabulous), but the good fortune i’ve received in my life is beyond what i could ever dream of. and yet, i still dream.

i always have. i have a serious imagination.

when i was 15 i dreamt about what i’d be like at 30. it’s a funny (hilarious, actually) thought. i believed i had my whole life figured out. but the truth is i never really knew who i’d be…until i was. and the who i am now never even crossed my mind.

my forays into life idealized at 30 always included one or all of the following:

a vintage typewriter
a library of first editions
a cool job
a big closet
a backyard (with a treehouse like i used to have)
his & hers sinks (monogrammed towels are optional ~ who am i kidding? no, they aren’t.)
and of course, kids. the kind that never cry, listen to me always, and are so stinkin’ cute that I can’t get enough of them (or their dad).
and traveling…lots and lots of it.

i dreamt i’d be living in a home that could be found in the pages of home & garden magazine. effortlessly stylish, cozy, and all around lovely. and of course, in my fantasy home, i’d be queen of the kitchen. easily whipping up gourmet meals to feed my litter of children as they ran around playing hide & go seek. and stopping to wrap themselves around my legs like little koala bears.

and to counteract this miss susie homemaker-ness, i would also be the jet-setting travel, fashion, music, and editorial maven that i still dream about. i would get paid to travel, to vacation, to experience. and i would write. and write. and write some more.

this was the daydream of a high school teen.

there was always something absent from the daydream though: a boy. i think i already knew that he could be many things, and everything and nothing at all. and that to dream about him would be a lie. while i navigate this ‘dating’ thing at 30, i sometimes wonder if i may have already met him? maybe he was a big love? or maybe we’ve been on only one date, or maybe even i simply passed him on the street.

or maybe, he is out there… daydreaming about me.