In my old community, there was a dilapidated swimming pool in the back that was “under construction”. It seemed like it was a work in progress forever. They would start, excitement would build, then abruptly they would stop. Weeks would go by and everything would sit there, untouched. Then, as if by magic, activity would begin in a flurry of pickup trucks and jackhammers. There was a promise, “it would open by Memorial Day Weekend”. Every time work would come to a standstill that promise seemed like it would never come to fruition. We would joke about the fact that they never said what year, just that it would be that weekend.
My life seems a lot like that community pool of late, (maybe your’s does too?) constantly starting and stopping with a goal in sight but the road to it seems unwalkable. Roadblocks seem insurmountable, until one day, you’re swimming.
There’s a dream I have, I see it my head all the time, every night when I close my eyes. He’s there, waiting for me. My blond-haired man with the mood ring eyes that always let me know what kind of a day he’s had before he opens his mouth. He makes me smile, makes me laugh when he doesn’t mean to. He has a way about him that makes you love him because even when he’s irritating you (or you, him), he’ll give you that sideways glare that always makes you laugh out loud.
Even though we’re both city people we live in the burbs because that’s just what you do when you have kids. We have a house with a porch that wraps around it. On summer evenings, we sit out in the backyard sipping wine, smelling the remnants of BBQ dinners and watching the kids tire themselves out for the evening. Life is peaceful, filled with the routine of work week traffic jams, homework battles and Sunday Brunches. Our biggest worry is where to take the kids this summer for family vacation and where to go for our anniversary.
Most often, the house looks like a hurricane went through it. There are piles of laundry in the basement, toys threaten to face plant you at any moment and fingerprints are pervasive. Yet, the pictures on the walls tell a different story. The show a man, dancing with a woman in white dress that he still loves all these years later. A woman holding a baby wrapped tighter than a burrito. Class pictures, BBQs, family picnics, vacations and snow ball fights. It’s all there, marked one by one on the walls.
If only life was like my dreams…
Reality, is a harsh pill to swallow when dreams are so much more romantic. Life is hard. Harder than I feel it really needs to be, if it can’t be easier, than it should definitely be less hectic. In my life, there’s still a man. He’s tried his best to be that man in my dreams, sometimes he succeeds and sometimes he doesn’t, but at least he tries. I’m still that woman, who is far from the dream version of myself. Most times, I don’t even muster up the effort to be that dream girl, that perfect spouse. My trail of epic failures in that regard are like the bread crumbs that Hansel and Gretel dropped in the forest. I’m totally lost in a sea of unknown territory and it’s off putting. My dreams even more elusive than ever, there has to be a way to turn them into reality.
Then I find myself watching the pool, it seems like they have been filling it up for days. In reality, it’s been about twenty-four hours but like a child when you’re on the cusp of something great, it seems to take forever. My life still has the “under construction” tape all around it. There is crap everywhere (literally) but one day, maybe even Memorial Day, the tape will be cleared, the gate open and I’ll be swimming.