A woman I know remembers that when she was a little girl that she wanted to be a ballerina. She had seen a ballet on PBS and was enamored with the grace, poise and beauty of the movements that these ladies demonstrated. Even though she was just around five years old she was determined. Even her few dolls became ballet partners. When she closed her eyes she pictured herself as a prima ballerina on the stages of New York, London and Paris. Considering she was in a small suburb of a small town this young lady had big dreams. However, her older brother who was just about two years older crushed her dreams by telling her that she was too fat and too clumsy to ever achieve such a dream. He loudly laughed at her and then recruited his friends into the joke. A dream that had been alive and exciting died a complete and utter end.
A young man wants to play baseball. At fourteen he is observed by a traveling baseball team coach. While the young man was a promising shortstop the coach asked if the boy would be willing to join the team as a second basemen. The coach explained that they already had a great shortstop and thought the boy would mesh well with the shortstop. Excitement filled the boy and he began personal training waiting for the official word. Every time the phone rang, he paused and waited. Nothing. He continued to practice; he borrowed training VHS tapes from the library. Every moment of daylight was taken up with thoughts and dreams of walking into a big-league stadium with the tip of his hat acknowledging a few thousand fans. One day the phone did ring. Apparently, the coach and his staff had a huge argument and the coach that had recruited the boy had resigned. The dream was dead.
For many people they have a small taste of hope and then crushing defeat. It is in that despair that the dream feels impossible. In that moment, a silent voice whispers to the dreamer that they are fools, that they are a loser, that they are hopeless. The young lady never dreams again of ballet. She medicates her heart with books and bitterness. Quickly, the boy medicates with TV, junk food and cruel joking. Eventually the boy graduates to drugs, alcohol and porn to medicate the pain caused by his deep hurt.
Often times treatment focuses on they symptoms. We look at the sadness, the addiction and define that as the problem. However, the dream while appearing dead is still alive inside of them. That dream causes an unbelievable amount of pain and discomfort. As we forge a new life part of the process is to identify the dream. Notice we are not looking for the dream killer and we are not blaming. We look to name the dying dream. Then we look to see what part of that dream we can resurrect.
A dignified but saddened African American man sits across from me. He talks about his High School football career. He changed schools every year because his family was homeless off and on and his parents were often hiding from creditors. Because he never played a full season for any football team, scouts never heard of him. Now as a fifty something year old he excitedly relives his youth as he tells of a great catch, an incredible block and a game winning touchdown. Then the excitement dies. With eyes brimming with tears, he says, “I was good. I could have gone all the way. Its too late for me.”
Now that I am fifty something I understand him. I simply do not bounce like I once did. The NFL is likely off the table for his future. But something awesome did take place. He got a job as part of the grounds crew for a local high school team. He would do his work and watch the practice. One day one of the coaches overheard the gentleman apparently talking to himself. As the coach approached the gentleman he figured out he was quietly coaching the wide receivers and tight ends. For a moment the coach watched and figured out the gentleman was giving really good guidance. The gentleman who was too old for the NFL was able to volunteer as an assistant coach for a couple of seasons. His dream was brought to life. He again had purpose.
