I love to dream.

Day dream, that is.

It's fun and fearless and freeing.

It allows me to imagine an idealized personal world...

created with

my hands

my words


my deeds.

And when I dream...

nothing seems off limits.

There is no room for doubts or worry or missteps.

There is just a flow

and a flourishing contagion of ideas and possibility

as one dream breathes life into another

and so on

and so on

until I am bursting at the seams with all of the wonderment and wonder of this someday land.

And as I revel in the reverie of it all,

I am filled with an irrepressible knowing and excitement that 


this. shall. be.

Sharing this vision of my someday land

with my kids...

I am abruptly brought back

to the moment

to the day

as the voice of my eldest calmly declares,

"You know, Mom...someday isn't a day of the week!"


The spell is broken.

The someday vision of my someday land gives way to ironic -- almost begrudging laughter as the meaning behind her words assimilate.

Darn it.

She's right.

And I know this.

It is all well and good to dream and imagine and conjure...

but without action...

without the contribution of my hands and words and deeds,

the dream remains just that...

a dream

lost in the ether

waiting for another soul to make it manifest.

As I gather

my someday dreams

within my mind's eye, once again...

I realize something has changed.

A new respect has emerged as I recognize the power these dreams have to ignite something from nothing.

Slowly and steadily I begin to build

deed by deed, word by word, step by step

through doubt and worry

flowing and floundering and finding my way

toward my someday dreams in my someday land.

For it is within our dreams of these faraway days that we often find the fortitude and inspiration needed to take the first step and then the next.

All that is created must first be imagined, after all.

And that is no small thing.

And so, I chuckle to myself as I recall the words of a friend,

"Someday is my favorite day of the week."

Me too, Karen. 

Me too.


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Lana Bastianutti