Written 14 years ago TODAY. I thought you'd find that interesting for Throwback Thursday.
Wake up calls come at the most unexpected times in my life, and the one this week came in the most unusual place—on the highway halfway between Crossville and Carmi.
Thursday, a family of five traveled through the area on a bicycle—one bicycle, built for four, pulling a cart carrying the youngest member of the family. The family had begun its journey April 1—in Vermont—with hopes of reaching Alaska by Aug. 1.
I caught up with the family on Illinois 1 and 14, halfway between Crossville and Carmi. There, on the side of the road, as semis flew by us, I learned a valuable life lesson.
I had forgotten to dream.
The father, Billy Romp, said the trip was the “living out of a dream.” In part, he said, they were making the trip to remind people that dreams do come true.
And then, in the next breath, without skipping a beat, he turned to me and asked “What’s your dream?”
And I said nothing.
My mind raced to think of something. Surely there was something I could say to save face.
In the scramble of living each day, I had given up dreams; and even sadder, I hadn’t even realized it . . . not until that moment. I finished the interview and walked to my car as the question played again and again in my mind; “What’s my dream?”
Our class buried a time capsule with our 20-year predictions. Me? I was going to marry a sailor (he had been my ‘steady’ all through school), have three children and be the first interplanetary journalist. Granted, some dreams aren’t meant to come true, but that youthful dream gave me direction in the coming years, and I know I made decisions based somewhat on those dreams.
Perhaps decisions come so hard lately because there is no dream guiding me. If I’m to move forward, I’m going to have to find my “Alaskan bike trip” and begin to live it.
And, may I ask, what’s your dream?