Born to a Dreamer

In following my blog I trust it’s starkly clear that I may or may not lend great credence to a pragmatic, methodical, or intellectual approach to most subject matter (the ‘may not’ is a horrible joke).  I know that I’ve mentioned the importance of rectifying cognitive distortions like black-and-white thinking.  As I asserted myself on a pedestal of intellectual pragmatism because for a long while I staunchly believed it was the best approach, in fact the only approach.

However, I must confess that the reason for doing so is founded in my own personal struggles and inevitable emotional growth.  In much of my life, I simply wanted answers…factual, absolute answers.   Because if there was a problem-solving method that is time-efficient, fact-calculating, and emotionally cost effective I wanted that approach, I desired those answers.  And I absolutely applied a mathematical language, “there is only one right answer”, to a seemingly haphazard and chaotic world.  I often fell a bit short of perfection; nonetheless, I was committed to the approach.

In my childhood, I drove my mom mad with the incessant need to know.  Know everything.  Know why.  Know what.  Know when.  Know how.  And even with her heavy and busy life as a single mother she always met me with such grace.  She partnered with me even though she was not the type that needed all the answers.  You see she had something I had yet to learn, faith. 

I obsessively made her take me to professionals that could give me more facts and less faith.  I did not trust her philosophical and faith-based approach to life.  I didn’t trust her magic.  I didn’t trust her language either; well, we’ll just have to see or everything will work out or have I failed you yet?  Like The Oatmeal cartoon of Japanese hornets and Godzilla, I was flipping her answers off and bouncing out to find something more concrete.

My methodical tactics, as I mentioned fell just short most of the time, however rendered enough success in life that I wasn’t convinced on giving it up.  And then, like a F5 tornado busting through a small southern town, I had children of my own.  And I so hastily came to realize I had been SO wrong for SO much longer then I was willing to admit.  My eldest, biological son is a mirror image of me in that he doesn’t even trust MY approach.  Here I am spending my life in absolute facts and education such that I can give my children answers I never had and it’s STILL not right!  You can envision Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka at any point now.  While I am certain there are a variety of ways to analyze this paradigm shift…without further ado...

I was born to a beautiful, majestic and intuitive dreamer.  A scientist born to a philosopher.  An atheist born to a pastor.  A devil born to an angel.  As hyperbolic as that seems and none laden in fact, I use it to illustrate the separation I felt growing up.  Now in hindsight with children of my own, I am learning that the separation was illusory.  It wasn’t factual, practical or true.  And the reason I know that lies in the experience that I have as I teach my children, love my man, mentor my friends, and build my career.  You see, the virtuous pillars that I more often lean on now when circumstances sway are my mother’s. 

I was born to a dreamer and I wouldn’t have it any other way because when I don’t have the answers I have her language to carry me.  I have faith that, we’ll just have to see everything turn out as it should.  I have love that causes everything to work out.  And I have peace in knowing that she hasn’t failed me yet.  I have a grace that meets me and partners with me while I am fearful and doubting.  And moreover, my children have those blessings that resonate through me, all because…I was born to a dreamer.

I love you, mom.



      Credit: The Oatmeal

---