In my nineteenth year, the world became an overwhelming and rather frightening place. I moved out and suddenly had to take care of myself. Even though I lived with my fiancé it was still a difficult and often oppressive transition. Homelessness wasn’t talked about in the news at that time, but I definitely knew it existed. That it might even be following me and watching everything I did. Waiting.
Roughly a year and a job change or two (for the better) later, life became more stable. Bankruptcy and its accompanying fear and helplessness receded a little. I had always been a good saver and a relatively good planner when it came to my money, so as more of it came in I was able to create an emergency fund. Additionally, options to continue my education and improve my career choices appeared. For me and my fiancé. We both jumped at them.
Fast forward three or four years and we were married and had a decent little starter home. Like other young couples, we had friends who were navigating the same life stages. Starting families, buying better cars, going on vacations, and moving up in their careers. I remember noticing that most of the wives had physically easy jobs (office work) that never required weekends or holidays. And they’d had those jobs for years.
I, on the other hand, was still laboring toward my degree and took the jobs I was qualified for. Meaning not so great ones. Like delivering packages and unloading trucks. Hard physical work that was often done in extreme weather (usually heat but sometimes torrential rain or spells of cold temperatures). There was no cushy office; no nice outfits; no cute shoes for me.
I swear I remember thinking at the time, probably after a visit with one of those couples, that I wanted what they had. The easy job. The security. The weekends off. Air conditioning. I was tired of working late all the time and sometimes on Saturdays. Being sweaty and dirty every day began to annoy me. I knew my graduation was coming and that soon I would have much better choices. But it was still difficult to stay the course and not tell my various crappy jobs to shove it. I just wanted to be comfortable and well paid. And I didn’t want to have to work so hard.
Years went by and it occurred to me one night while lying in bed waiting for sleep that I had made it. That I was living that air conditioned, no weekends, physically easy career I had so long ago hoped for. At that time I had been teaching middle school for a while and had begun to adapt hedonically to summers off and holidays that popped up regularly. My work was indoors most of the time, temperature controlled, and involved no heavy lifting. I occasionally did wear cute shoes. And although running a classroom of thirteen and fourteen year olds was not easy, I could certainly manage it with less exhaustion than my previous jobs caused.
I remember feeling quite excited. It was the first time I realized that envisioning something had led to its manifestation. Other examples came to mind over the ensuing days: the house we had recently purchased, the clothes I wore, my level of health and fitness, my friendships. Even our family dog. I had never written any of it down, but I knew what I wanted in certain ares of my life and I thought about it quite a bit. The thinking and the imagining was a big part of making it happen.
There was no denying it.
A short time later I realized something else. Sure, my life was very nice and it’s great that my musings had brought about certain successes. But after noticing that so many of my current benefits had started in my head I had to wonder: why hadn’t I dreamed bigger?
Seriously, I dreamt of security. And air conditioning. And who wouldn’t want that? But couldn’t I have been more, I don’t know, daring? Or at least more fun? Like a thriving investment portfolio worth at least a cool million or two? How about a net worth so big I could quit work before forty and travel anywhere and anytime I wanted? Dolphin and koala whisperer, perhaps? If simple daydreams of a comfortable job and secure life yielded such grand results (and they did; I’m not unhappy or unfulfilled), why hadn’t I upped the ante as the years wore on?
So I’ve decided to do just that: dream of more. And not just wealth. But optimal health, excellent vacations and adventures, healthy relationships with family and friends. Let’s throw in a few successful book deals and a sprawling yard glowing with flowers and succulent gardens; a beach house. Now we’re talking! Because doing so would involve no more effort than dreaming modestly. And there is nothing to lose.
And I know that there’s more to visualization than just the dreaming. I know that follow through is necessary. But it’s also true that actions begin with thoughts. I can make sure those thoughts are higher quality, as in more specific, to yield better results. Imagining myself completing the third or fourth mile on the beach with my dogs will lead to better action than just thinking about myself in my running clothes, tying my shoes. Seeing myself driving around coastal neighborhoods and visiting properties with for sale signs might lead to finding a second home more satisfactorily than just visualizing myself sitting on a porch looking out at the ocean.
So I’m going to get on it. To judge the success of this experiment more easily, I’m going to stick with just one or two enhanced dreaming exercises. Perhaps landing a multimillion dollar book deal. Or starting the side hustle I’ve been toying with and earning enough passive income to fund that travel. I’m not sure how long to give it but maybe I just stick with it until something, anything, changes. And the coolest part of all of this is there is no physical work required; no purchase necessary. Not even any prep.
I just start daydreaming in a more focused way. While I’m commuting. In the shower. Waiting for the pizza. It may take a little practice, but I can see myself doing it.