Dream Deferred, or Dream Changing

I always dreamed of being a writer--a suitable profession for an introvert and the main endeavor for which I received praise.  I love writing, but I lacked the motivation to pursue it on a grand scale.  And even if I had had the talent and luxury to be a full-time writer, I cringed at the thought of being a public person, going to signing parties, or reading bad reviews.  

Maybe I'm just the sort of person who loves writing for its own sake, or writing a blog that only my closest friends read.  And maybe I found satisfaction in years of teaching that distracted me from the original dream. 

A Lanston Hughes poem asks the question: "What happens to a dream deferred?" 

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       Does it dry up
       like a raisin in the sun?
       Or fester like a sore—
       And then run?
       Does it stink like rotten meat?
       Or crust and sugar over—
       like a syrupy sweet?

       Maybe it just sags
       like a heavy load.

       Or does it explode?

Dreams change as we change.

What we once dreamed of doing may turn to something else.  Or it may show up in a different form than we imaged it.  

"Traveling Solo" is probably the smallest and most random little blog in Blogsville. What started out as its focus is no longer even a feature of it, as the blogger (me) isn't traveling anywhere, solo or with a traveling companion.  

It's a hodgepodge of books, people, memories, suggestions, reflections, opinions.  It's pictures of my grandchildren and a record of my days--in case I ever go back and read it again. Maybe it's a legacy for my grandchildren. 

When Day made this blog for me seven years ago, she didn't include a button for comments, so I'm not writing for "likes" and hearts.  Still, it makes me very happy when sometimes one of you sends me an email that answers a question I've asked or continues the conversational bread crumbs.

I rarely mention your names unless I know it's okay.  Once I got in a spot of trouble for mentioning a friend's birthday party without permission.  But I know who you are and I have you in mind as I write.

You're Carlene (my first friend) and Betty (my second).  You're my best friends.  My teachers, playmates, kindred spirits.  You inspire me.  You read between the lines and send me bread crumbs back. 

While the word, love, is often over- and mis-used, I can say without exaggeration that I love you who read my random blog.  I so appreciate your taking the time to read these little postcards about my days and send me postcards from yours.