Riley’s friend Avalon debuted at Tate Street Coffee House last week. She played a guitar she hand-painted, strumming and singing songs self-taught. Avalon was a little nervous. Her pure, sweet voice shook slightly and there were times you couldn’t quite hear the lyrics. Perhaps her microphone could have been closer, and maybe she has some distance to travel before she is top-notch by professional performance standards, but who really cares about what Avalon has yet to do? With the courageous first step and an enthusiastic crowd of supporters she took on a Sunday night at the coffee house, the rest will follow. I felt so proud for her because here is the kicker … Avalon was up there on that stage playing her guitar. She put a verb to her dream.
Tate Street Coffee House is situated beside the campus of UNC-Greensboro. To the walls are nailed: heart pouring poetry, abstract paintings full of depth and angst, and undecipherable metal art. The atmosphere drips of the young pheromones of collegiate revolution, that musky scent of teen rage and readiness pushing at the exit door of confinement, hungry to storm the world.
Tate Street is just like a place I used to regular in Boone some twenty-five plus years ago. It was there that I burned up pages of journals with ideas and burned my Sear’s underwire. I was going to light up the world with the spark of my being. I wasn’t just going to make some change, sister, I was the change. Braless and fearless, I didn’t know what I didn’t know, the bliss of my ignorance a high-test fuel for my hopes and dreams.
Then, as life often unfolds, there was a time when my dream lay dormant. I wouldn’t say that I forgot about it but I would say that there were a dozen or so years when I didn’t tend and water the crop. I could make hundreds of excuses here and blame many people and things, but the truth is that I hid away my dream of being a writer. I didn’t let it shine.
~~~
Several weeks ago, Riley was taking about when she was younger. She said of herself, “Mom, I was such a little nerd. I was always walking around reading books and sketching funny drawings.” (Riley dreams of being a fashion designer.)
I replied, “Oh, baby, I was a nerdy little kid too. I was always walking around with a notebook, writing little stories, hoping to find the right mixture of words, trying to make people laugh.”
Riley replied with her 15 year-old eye roll, “Mom, you still do that. You still keep a journal and write stories, trying to make people laugh.” I must admit here that I felt pure joy at my dream conviction. Realizing that I do still do that was exhilarating. I haven’t always … but right now I am doing my dream. It is as natural as breathing, this thing for which I feel designed.
I am not sure what your dream might be. I suspect that somewhere in the back of your mental closet, no matter how many jobs, kids, hobbies, and distractions you have piled on top of it, that you are sure. Put a verb to it … it is never too late to spread your wings, feel your joy, and strum your tune at Tate Street.