Dream higher. – A thought that came to me while writing my annual job review.
For someone who doesn’t dream very much – my nights are dark patches that start when I turn out the light and end when morning peels back my eyelids – higher isn’t really all that much. It’s the high dive versus the flat board that hovers right over the water. It’s a crop duster versus a trampoline.
But what if I went all the way to the top, to the platform that seems to hover just beneath the ceiling, the one where you have to point your toes on the way down so the soles of your feet don’t burn. What if I took the shuttle out of the stratosphere?
When my daughter was very young and I’d lost a bunch of weight, I treated myself with a yellow eyelet summer dress. It was different than most of my clothes – more feminine and form fitting, more expensive. The dress disappeared after a few years. I don’t even have a photo of myself in it – it’s just gone. Only I could lose a dress, I tell myself. You lost it, part of me says, because you didn’t deserve it.
But then another part of me speaks up: You’ll find a better dress.