During a conversation with my husband, he admitted that he didn’t have a dream, or at least he didn’t know of one, that he still didn’t know what he wanted in life. The thought of not having something to strive for, something to reach for, depressed me. He assured me that he was far from alone. That at 27 plenty of people had no idea what career they wanted. But it wasn’t about careers to me, it was about dreams, even the impossible or improbable. How can you not know what you want in life?
But truthfully, while I know what I dream, what I want my life to be, which is writing, writing and more writing, I couldn’t tell you what I’d want to do with my life if I can’t write. So is there just a disconnect between us, both of us thinking different definitions to the question of dreams or am I just the dreamer in the relationship and he’s the doer, bring home the money so I can follow my unpaid dream while we share the responsibility of raising two little ones, a dream I think we share, to give them lives full of love and laughter and education and responsibility and civic duty and obedience and worship and on and on. But we can’t live through our children and I don’t think either of us wants that.
So now I want to help him find his dream, find what he wants to strive for, to give him the freedom to pursue what some might call impossible. For he has given me the gift of understanding and loving for me to pursue what fulfills me without expectation. And that is why my husband is the greatest man and I love him dearly. And no, I’m not letting him go.