The man asked me questions about what I envisioned for my life and any goals I had.

As tears quietly fell, I shared that at one point, I was more concerned about getting what I needed to pay the bills, then hoping I had enough left over to avoid becoming a financial burden to my family if I needed care of any kind in my old age.

That was it. Truly.

I knew that the way I did life wasn’t sustainable. I worked a desk job and coached high school basketball. The one paid my bills, and the other kept my blood pumping with excitement in season.

The problem was that it wore me out. I lost sleep, weight, and other healthy habits for 4ish months of the year, then spent the rest of the year recovering so that I could get up and do it all over again.

What would I do instead?

When I began thinking about writing as an alternative, my spirit fluttered for a spell, then landed again, like a bird learning to fly. Sure, I thought, I’d like to take writing more seriously, but I didn’t know how to fly yet. It would take time, energy, and risk. Was I sure I could do that?

I didn’t want to (couldn’t?) give up the things I needed – my day job, or my passion project – nothing changed. I didn’t have anything left in me to pursue writing, but it hung on in my mind.

That’s the scary thing about dreams, isn’t it? They can be such fragile things, as easily given up as the trash or as easily forgotten as yesterday’s outfit.

On the other hand, dreams can also keep a steadier grip on your heart than any person can, or lure you to new heights you’d never consider otherwise.

When we choose to keep our dreams, to foster them and feed them, we allow them a little more space inside us, and we begin to realize that we have space to offer this little thing. It may start little, of course, but it can also grow into a mighty beast that calls for next steps and resources and changes of mindset.

Do we want to make room for a dream?

Are we willing to pay the price?

To look at it another way… can we afford not to pay the price?

Here’s what I mean: while we may risk ourselves to give life to a dream, we also risk ourselves by not doing that thing. Because, if a dream sticks, then it will eat and claw its way to the sunshine. It not only desires to exist, but it simply must. It cries out for its own next steps and resources and changes of mindset.

As a Christian, I’d say the Spirit of God gives us those dreams. God has wired each of us in unique ways to do good works, and I think that sometimes he grants a vision for us to chase. It’s a path of submission, wonder, and opportunity that can stretch and challenge us in our diligence and faithfulness.

Dreams are dangerous things, whether we feed them or not. Would we rather do life with the reality of our dreams, learning the costs and priorities and maybe even trying and failing or changing our minds? Or would we rather live with the wondering, the what-ifs of a life void of passion or risk?

Let me tell you: the more I feed my dreams, the more difficult it becomes to stop. I bring people with me; I ask for feedback; I open myself up to criticism and rebuke as I put myself out there more and more.

But this version of me, the one that tests and tries again and learns and shares what she’s thinking and offers more goodness to others? That’s the version I want. I want to feed that woman.

May any desire in me to cruise, to kick back, to settle for the easy boundaries and comfort of life rather than the challenge of it, starve as a result.