As an adult, I too shamed those who are naive. I too lost a certain respect for lofty words anchored in hope. I also sought a religion of concrete and substantive vows.
Until I ran out of options.
Some dreams have substance.
Some dreams have mass.
They exist at that turning point. They grow in patches of fire that burn our fears. They are watered by tears that do not fall.
There is a physical form to those dreams. Those dreams we pull on like rope when that waking hour work jeers at us. Those dreams that we lean in on like that rope pugilists square their fortunes in. Those dreams that sound like a familiar voice on our side of rope tugging along with us.
No, our world is still made of blood and those thirsty to taste it. But there are dreams that can silence heart beat if listen.
Big ideas with purpose and sweat nurturing have depth and volume. There is a weight to dreams we design with accountability.
Dreams big enough to sail to moons on. If only we trust them enough to sacrifice our small steps towards them.