photo by me

In three weeks, I’ll be 40 years old. Forty. Wow. Frankly I have never thought of myself at that age. It seems old to me. But I’m not old. At least, I don’t think I am (and Willow tells me I’m not!).

In my family, I’m not even at middle age. Grandparents and great aunts have lived well past 80 years old. One great aunt died last year at the ripe old age of 101.

In those terms, I’m still a youngster.

So, am I allowed to still dream? Is that okay?

When does dreaming stop and we have to live in the here and now, paying attention only to reality?

I dream.

I dream of living in Spain, soaking in a whole new culture.

I dream of photographing beautiful Basque towns and amazing architecture and beautiful people.

I dream of traveling to Germany and Italy and Ireland…and maybe even France.

I dream of immersing myself into new communities.

I dream of being someone…someone people admire or look up to.

I dream of a life that is different than the one I currently live (which isn’t so bad, truth be told).

Is it okay to dream? My dreams don’t stay dreams for long. I tend to make them realities because I think that’s what life is about.

So is it okay to dream about something so drastically different that would take me away from all that I know?

My sister-in-law said that she’d visit me in Spain.

So I dream.