Creating a Vision - It's Right There... Where? There Where your Dreams are...

- It’s right there…

- Where?

- There where your dreams are.

- What dreams?

- Your dreams.

- ???

My son discovered my Dreams Journal. There is a Journal, but there are no dreams. They remain a mystery to me.

- Have you read it?

- Yes.

- Do you know that you are not supposed to read my stuff and especially my diaries?

- Why not?

- Because they are mine.

- What is the big deal?

There was no big deal; there were no revelations in that Journal, only a few entries. The first one was dated March 12, 2010.

Sometimes you don’t know what you are missing

Until you reach out to touch it.

Sometimes you can’t see how beautiful something is

Until it steps back into the light.

And sometimes you miss a love

You almost didn’t lose.

But when you need beauty,

Dream.

I had this Dream Journal since 2008, it was a present. Like most things in my life I had an eye on it and someone by the name “Beloved” bought it for me. I will never be able to forget this fact.

Waves in green, purple, pink and three different shades of blue on the top are interspersed with bubbles. Inside there are only blue waves on white paper with bubbles throughout. Am I drowning?

I cannot fathom the symbolism of this design, but what I see in it is Laundry. One of my friends has noticed that there is nothing of interest on the intersection where I live. He cannot be more wrong. There is 24/7 Laundry and when in 2008 the hell broke loose and I was forced to spend nights outside my home, I found my refuge there. I had the journal with me, but I did not write anything in there. The memory is as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

My life is kept inside a big washing machine, I am being rotated mercilessly and the door won’t open. I cannot breathe. I cannot write. I cannot dream. I want OUT!

As far as dreams go, there were none. There was a list of Wants where money took the 3^rd place and dancing the 4^th. I started dancing shortly before I had made that list and soon after I found a job. I did not make too much money, but it was decent. All those “dreams” were not a big secret for Daniel. He asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said “a big bag of money”. He made a poster and it is still on the wall lest I forget. This March I lost my job, but I continue dancing and I even started dancing tango. That was my lifelong dream.

Money and dancing. What else?

I wanted to write but it was neither a dream nor a goal. To write what? For whom? I keep writing about my life, but do I really want to bare my soul? Someone called it “emotional nakedness” which is as inappropriate as nudity.

The urge to write personal stories is not unlike a throw up reflex. I have had enough of this burden of my thoughts and experiences and I want to get rid of it. I am not writing to be read, I am writing to achieve freedom. I want OUT!

To call myself a writer might be an exaggeration, but what word would describe me better? A zookeeper? Exactly.

Writing was neither a dream nor a goal, it was an opportunity. I started writing on HP and, frankly, I could not stop. What is the reason? An addiction? Self-indulgence? Soul-searching?

I had another “Special Dream” journal that was not special at all. What “Special Dream?” The inscription on it was not even inspiring “I think your smile is very lovely. My mind is filled with music.” What a strange combination!

But I used it for my HubPages writing. It is almost finished by now. I look at those words “Special Dream” now and think that writing is one of my special dreams. My mind is always filled with music. And someone’s smile would be very lovely when I will find him/her. But how can I pursue writing? Is it a whim or a dream?

Getting a job or a career must be much more important now than chasing my dreams that I cannot even define. Even more important than looking for that special smile, friendship and love.

“If it is important for you, you will find a way. If it is not, you will find an excuse.”

I decided to go back in time and remember when I started writing. I don’t think I was such a good writer in Russian. All I wrote was long letters. Quite insincere at times, because I was always trying to please the audience. I did not have the courage to tell the things they were in my opinion. Fear? But I was cringing inside. I still enjoyed the process of composition. I exaggerated embellished, joked and created alternative reality. I even kept saying that my letters should be published one day.

But to write in English? I found it extremely difficult at first. My ex-husband was a student at DeVry Institute of Technology in Toronto and I had to help him write essays for the ENGL 110 “English Composition” course. Writing those essays was a nightmare, especially because he was always pressuring me to write it at the last minute, disagreed with me and never let my inspiration take flight! We had one fight after another.

Later I decided to go to DeVry and get a degree in IT. For “English Composition” I took a proficiency exam and passed at the minimum required level of 80%.

Then there were other English courses:

- ENGL 130 “Writing Research Paper”

- ENGL 225 “Professional Writing”

- SPCH 275 “Public Speaking”.

There were also essays on sociology, psychology, history, literature… I am trying to remember… As painful as it was, reading improved my vocabulary and all these courses helped me hone my writing skills immensely.

I realized how much I enjoyed humanities and how much I detested all computer science. Maybe not all computer science subjects, but I came to the devastating conclusion that I simply did not belong in IT. My ex-husband warned me before I had enrolled that it was not for me, but he did not stop me.

He recommended finding something that I liked and following that path, but nobody knew and least of all I what I wanted.

Now I can say that I enjoy humanities and I like writing but I don’t have enough qualifications and I don’t believe I can make a career out of it.

I never went for what I liked out of fear of failure. I did not want my mother criticize me. All the wrong reasons.

“The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed.” Buddha

When I was only sixteen I went to the Moscow Technical University and two years later I had a complete nervous break-down. I knew that I disliked engineering and wanted to leave the University. My parents and all my friends told me that I was insane to throw away two years of hard work. “Stay and complete the course and then you will be free to take any direction in life you want”. That was true. I would be able to take any course in life I wanted. For that I did not need another four years of torture studying mechanical engineering. I stayed because I always believed that if I was in the minority I might be wrong. I always was in minority, still am.

I was afraid to make a crucial mistake and I kept making them. I did not listen to my own intuition. I trusted other people because I thought they knew better being older and wiser. I did not think for myself. I was afraid. And I wanted acceptance of others. I could not go alone.

I call it “The Balance Beam Syndrome”. No, it is not a universal thing. It comes from my history.

I always liked to dance. On my sixth birthday, there were only adults and maybe my only friend Sasha. I don’t remember much from that day. I remember wearing a lilac dress and my mom’s jewelry. The dress had an underskirt which I insisted should be on top and not under the dress. And I danced and I danced and danced. A friend of my parents, a very wise man said: “Look at her, it is serious.” It was. My passion for dancing was serious, but my parents took no notice.

At seven I started school and my classmate enrolled me in the artistic gymnastics. She lasted there three months, I stayed for three years. Gymnastics made a huge impact on my life, I stopped getting sick all the time, my physical development was noticeable; my figure became suitable for modeling (you may not pay attention, but I saw Daniel’s schoolmates and I spotted the girl who was enrolled in gymnastics immediately. It does make a difference). I learned how to prioritize time and plan activities to be able to do well in school and be able to train. It took a lot of time, not like in Canada – gymnastics – an hour per week. You won’t achieve anything like that. You either devote your time and effort, or don’t even start.

But most importantly I enjoyed it because was the next best thing to dancing.

It would have been a great memory, if not for one detail. I was not good at it. I suppose I could have been better with proper attention and training, but the school agenda was to select the best and get rid of the rest. I was in the latter category.

My father interfered and asked the trainer to keep me so I could reap the benefits of the sport. He did not realize that along with the benefits came other things. My trainer resented me, she did not spend too much time with me and I was getting worse and worse and I began feeling inadequate.

During my formative years, while my physique and health were getting better, my self-esteem and confidence were taking a plunge.

I was at my absolute worst on a balance beam. I could not do a cartwheel even on a low beam. I would always jump off. I could not find my balance. Why was I so afraid of falling? On such low height it would not have hurt me. The reasons are suppressed and buried in my memory and I guess it is an example of motivated forgetting. I might have forgotten the reasons, but the image of that room and the beam are etched in my memory. I am only writing about it and all I feel is the acute pain of failure and humiliation. Why could I not do it? Why? Why? Why was I such a failure? Why was I such a loser? I was very artistic and it was confirmed later by many people, even by someone I held in the highest esteem – my trainer in rhythmic gymnastics at the Moscow University.

But this childhood memory is a sheer pain. Still it is very vivid. Symbolic.

After three years in gymnastics I was mature enough to see “the attitude” towards me. Not that I did not realize my shortcomings, but I did not see the whole picture. We had a competition at the end of the year and my best shot was floor routine. I would not win anything, but that was the area where I could perform decently. The routine was supposed to be accompanied with music. Right before I had to start, my trainer cancelled the music and asked me not to do certain elements. Of course, I got confused and messed everything up. It was such a blow to my confidence. After that accident I quit. Later my father told me about the arrangement he had with the trainer and I was devastated. I was broken. It was the worst experience in my whole life. “The Balance Beam Syndrome”.

Now I am thinking about my son. All of a sudden, I realize I am being insensitive to his little (little?!) pains.

Going back to my failures in life. In school I was a good student. In University I was a good student and I graduated with good marks. But after graduation I was working as a secretary because engineers did not make much money. It was a good position in a foreign company, it was well paid, but it was essentially a dead-end job. I was unhappy. Not unhappy, I was depressed. I thought that to get out of that little hell, I might need another education.

Then we (my ex-husband and I) immigrated to Canada. I could not be an engineer here. Maybe I could have been. I don’t know, but I did not want to. I found a job as a secretary. Another dead-end job. It was not bad, but I did not want to stay all my life being a secretary or rather a data entry operator. But I did not look for another job, I was too insecure. My English was not good enough; I preferred the comfort of security to the adventures of uncertainty. Little did I know, the comfort of security did not last long. The company was bought by another one and since I was a new hire, I was the first to go. The severance package was excellent, I must admit. Among other perks there was a professional service to help with career orientation. The lady who owned that company was very nice and sympathetic to me, she did the personality test and gave me recommendations what to do.

It all would have been great if not for the fact that the criteria for finding the “right” employment were completely wrong. I should have stopped then and there.

I should have looked for something that would make me happy and go in that direction. Instead of repeating the mistake that I made with mechanical engineering, I should have… But I used the same logic. If I got a degree in a high demand field, I would have been able to land a good job with a good salary to have an acceptable lifestyle. A good market would have allowed me to maneuver from job to job if need will be.

Was it rational? Was it logical? It was. Except for one little detail. I could not do what I absolutely hated.

I was depressed all those years I spent in Canada, before, during and after DeVry. Not because of Canada, but is it a consolation?

After I graduated from DeVry I could not find a job in the computer field, because it was year 2002. Companies were looking for experienced people. New graduates were of no interest. Those who were promising. I was not such a find. I did not even want it. That was the worst part. After suffering from the terrible depression during my DeVry years, I was not ready to work anywhere. But to admit defeat again? “The Balance Beam” all over again? One education down the drain, another one down the drain? My spirit was broken.

What happened next? I got pregnant and I had my son in 2003. Then in 2005 my parents came to live with us and I thought that I finally could start looking for that job that I would like. What kind of job? I did not know.

That was the time, May 2005, when I thought everything that had to be taken care of was taken care of and I could look for changes in my life. Keeping in mind that I must look for something that I liked.

I told my ex-husband that I did not mind if the job would be low-paying as long as it had potential and I could be able to enjoy it. He disagreed. We had a huge fight…

I never abandoned that idea, but I was not able to succeed.

The last thing I did before pregnancy was buying the book “What colour is your parachute?” I got the idea, but doing soul-searching while expecting to be busy with diapers seemed a waste of time.

In 2005, I pulled the book out and tried to do “The Flower Exercise” (a Picture of the Job of your Dreams). I was stuck at the first assignment:

[…] write seven stories about things you did just because they were fun, or because they gave you a sense of adventure, or gave you a sense of accomplishment. […]

The flower with six petals and seven stories … (reference to the story “I will remain the light for you.”) I wish I could make a wish …

I could not write any stories. Not even one. I was so numb inside. I forgot who I was, what I liked, what I could I do. I was stuck in complete darkness.

I was sitting on a sofa in our living room and crying senselessly. I remember it now as if it was yesterday. This image is as vivid as “the balance beam” nightmare from my childhood.

Now, when I was writing this and watching the video “Balance Beam Montage”, I cried senselessly, too. I remembered my tears from all those years as if it was my life flickering in front of my eyes. Fall after fall after fall…

It was six years ago. Why am I still nowhere? This six year lapse was a trip to hell and back. Or was it one-way ticket? Will I ever come back?

I watched another video and I laughed. [Notice, it even said "Year 2005".] Frankly I had a different song in mind. I can laugh now, but it was not funny before. All my life I was suffering from depression. The first episode happened the same year I quit gymnastics. I was only ten. I was hospitalized. Not for the depression, I was very sick physically. It was better, worse, better, worse until it became unbearable by 2005. That is when the “Being Crazy and Beyond” period began.

I was given anti-depressants. I can fill a book with stories about what happened to me during those years. The highlights: divorce, hospital, turmoil, unhappiness, inability to work or do anything.

When I was studying IT, I was hoping to maneuver from a job to a job if need will be. Instead I was maneuvering from one hospital to another. I have learned a lot, but not what I was hoping to learn.

The time was passing, passing, passing, passing, passing… yet it is always now.

It is always now, the eternal now…

What’s now?

In the middle of this road we call our life

I found myself in a dark wood

With no clear path through.

Dante Alighieri, Divine Comedy, “Inferno”

The question is not how did I get there, the question is how to get out of there.

My last job began last May with a chuckle “Mechanical Engineer…” (I thought I would not get a job, but I did) and ended this March with the farewell:

“Why don’t you try doing what you like?”

[Retail was not the answer, I was either not good enough or not liked or both.

- Svetlana, please, stop thinking.

- If you want to see the day when I stop thinking, come to my funeral.

But I got the point.]

Did I miss something?

- Yes. It’s right there…

- Where?

- There where your dreams are.

- What dreams?

- Your dreams.

- ???

“Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I am living my dream which lacks definition, but who said I have to define everything? Maybe I need courage not definition.

"Courage, in the final analysis, is nothing but an affirmative answer to the shocks of existence."

~Kurt Goldstein

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage".

~Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Letters to Lucilius

On the subject of one-way tickets: we travel in one direction only, "it's a slalom from nowhere to nowhere." It takes courage.