the incurable dreamer

my dreams are my disease, chasing them my only option

thanks, for squeezing my lemons

Most of my friends are married, own homes, are parents and are on a career path that’s going to end with a well-earned pension.  They all seem to have their shit sorted, are settled down and are adulting like normal people.

Then there’s me.

When I am out walking a dog and weaving my way through a new neighbourhood, I see not just homes, but lives.  I see roots being planted.  Stories being written.  A place people call home.  And I think, ‘How wonderful.’  But then.  Then it happens.  I hear the sound of a vacuum in a driveway and see someone cleaning out a minivan, see an open garage with boxes piled high – chaos stored within its walls, smell the scent of fresh laundry, notice unfinished renovations or see someone weeding their garden and instantly, I become anxious. What I see and smell reminds me that alongside all the ‘wonderful’ are things like chores, compromises, resentment, anger and unfulfilled dreams and I can’t help but wonder, ‘Are these people actually happy?‘  And as I continue on my way, I feel relieved, lucky in fact, that it’s not me.  That nothing and nobody is waiting for me at home.  I find domestication suffocating and thoroughly insufferable.  The destiny that awaits me isn’t a white picket fence and routine.  Oh no, out there waiting for me are lessons to learn, words to be written, Horizons to fly towards, and experiences that will lead me…to me, and my dreams. What has yet to make sense in my life, finally will, if I just stay on the path, I am on.  Alone.

Don’t get the wrong impression, though.  I love, and I love really goddamn hard.  Like, there is a 99 percent chance at least one of my friends is getting an ‘I love you’ text from me tomorrow. That’s just how I roll.  I wear my heart on my sleeve, and if I love you, you know it.  Love is what makes the world go round, and without it, we would all just be a bunch of unfeeling assholes.  I am totally not one of those.  But…DOMESTICATION?  *gag*  THAT is like the plague to me.  In fact, I have a much greater chance of surviving the plague than surviving settling down and being still.  No matter how much I love, or how captivated my heart is, it will never be enough.  I have a one-track mind, and it belongs to my dreams.  So, fuck the matching track suits and the ‘her and her’ bath robes.  I am on the move.  And I need to keep moving.

This past week was one of the worst I have had in a very long time. The saying is, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’ Well, that’s great and all, except when you have lemons flying at your face from every possible angle.  How the hell are you supposed to get a grip on even one goddamn lemon to start squeezing when you’re getting knocked on your ass from constant flying fucking fruit?  I certainly couldn’t squeeze anything.  So, I fell into a deep depression accompanied by a hint of blind rage and sat suffering all alone.  I didn’t write anything, and I completely lost myself.

Finally, last night, I decided that I needed to talk to someone.  My face was beginning to hurt from my furrowed brow, and I was feeling like a useless pile of garbage.  I drove to my friend’s house to talk to her, and her husband about my lemons. But dammit, I didn’t think they were home and left.  I sent her a text to say I had stopped by and told her I just wanted to talk about my lemons.  Disappointed, I drove back home.  The song ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ came on the radio.  The elation I normally feel upon hearing that song was instead met with a big, ‘FUCK YOURSELVES HARD, JOURNEY!’  I knew I had hit rock bottom.

Still fuelled by the desire to feel better, I texted my other friend. ‘I CAN’T HANDLE MY LEMONS!’  And, her response was just what I needed.  ‘YOUR LEMONS ARE FUCKING STUPID!’  We went back and forth, and I complained about all my lemons and got them off my chest.  I apologized for dumping all of them on her, but she said, ‘If it were me I would feel the same way!’  She talked me through it.  And I realized at that moment, that together we were starting to make lemonade.   She then said something that made me almost choke on a piece of broccoli because I laughed out loud.  There I was, alone, and for the first time in days, I enjoyed a genuine laugh.  For the first time in a week, I felt free of my lemons and once again I had hope.  Then my other friend sent a text asking, ‘Do you still need talk about your lemons?’  She didn’t even question the fact I had referenced fruit in my text; she was just ready to talk.  These are my friends.  Ready to talk about my lemons and squeeze when I am in desperate need of some lemonade.

When I put my phone down, I felt relieved, clear-headed and back on track.  I thought about the misery I had wallowed in all week, and how I tried to handle it all alone.  I couldn’t.  And I didn’t need to.

My life doesn’t consist of the same four walls and a family of my own.  Mine is an adventure, and the walls that surround me are always different.  But the one thing that is consistent in my life is love.  The people who are willing to squeeze my lemons (Jesus Christ that sounds dirty) and bring me back from the darkness when it consumes me.  They will always be there for me. And I will always be there for them.

I am not sure exactly what I am going to find within myself when I get to where I am going, but I do believe it will be bliss.

The next time I get whacked in the face by flying fruit and am lost in the darkness, far from bliss, I am going to reach out and ask for some help.

My friends know how to squeeze lemons and make really great fucking lemonade.

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20 Comments

  1. OMG that was funny… not your pain, but the visual of you literally standing there and getting pelted in the face by flying fruit. Brings back nightmares of gym glass where a thousand basketballs were flying in all different directions in a small gymnasium during some sort of dodgeball/basketball free-for-all, with me huddled on the sidelines, both arms protecting my skull and orbital sockets. Except it wasn’t a nightmare it actually happened. I wish you could squeeze a basketball like you could squeeze a lemon. I relate to your post completely. Almost like a carbon copy of me, minus the getting outside and walking a dog. Another idea with flying fruit – you could always get a sharpie marker and draw faces on them and put little plastic hats on them you know like the ones that look like tiny little shower caps that are used to cover up small containers of food that will go bad anyways in your fridge. Put them in a dish on the table and call them your “Fruit Friends.”

    • the incurable dreamer

      OMG! You just made me laugh my ass off picturing you in gym glass. That is horrible but you painted such a great visual I can totally imagine it! Assholes! Gym glass was seriously the worst. Let’s see who can get picked last AGAIN today. How did any of us survive school? I like your lemon/fruit friends idea! Thanks. Next time fruit smashes my face, I am going to grab it, and add comb-overs and shower cap hats! HA! The. Best.

  2. Tanya!

    I completely relate to being the one on the outside looking in. Life sure seems picturesque when I glance in through an open window (or see the smiling faces on a Facebook post). Then, I see the virtual equivalent of the plumber’s ass-crack as one of these picture-perfect families accidentally reveals the mundane in their lives. “Can’t talk now, I’ve got to get these dishes cleaned, or, gotta stay in town for the season, at least until we pay down some of these bills.”

    This stuff destroys my illusions about the perfection in others lives. And I can’t tell you how many times this seemingly innocent stuff rocks my world. Reading your incredibly honest and insightful post has reminded me of WHY I have a tendency to slip into one of my own funks when this happens.

    This stuff shatters my hopes that I will someday get my happy ending (not the sleazy massage happy ending, but the real ones that are so amazing you can almost feel the closing credits and hand-holding into the sunset). That my happy ending will include all the stuff you mentioned in your opening paragraph. Then, like you, I realize that I’m not cut out for that kind of domestication (sure, I’m a househusband and I like to cook, do dishes – but no laundry or floor work). Well, I guess the rambling point I’m trying to get at is that my funks are often a product of disappointment, disappointment that my expectations won’t be realized, and that my expectations, even if they were realized, wouldn’t make me happy.

    So now what am I supposed to do? I like your idea. Talk to friends. Vent. Keep venting. Find bliss in the knowledge that I don’t know what my destination looks like, but if I keep moving, it’s probably going to be awesome.

    Yeesh. This has been a doozey of a comment, but I think you hit on a particularly sensitive nerve. One that I need to give some more thought to. So thanks for letting me squeeze my lemons (again, not in a gross way).

    • the incurable dreamer

      Thanks so much, Gabe! I wrote this when I was still not feeling like writing, so it isn’t one of the better things I have written, but It was honest and was important for me to say. It helped me feel better. I love being alone, and the thought of being domestic sends a cold chill down my spine. But there is no need for me to try and handle things alone when they are overwhelming. I have great lemon squeezers in my life, and they will squeeze until I am ok. All of us deserve a happy ending (not the sleazy one – ha!) and it is important we all recognize within ourselves what we need to get to that ending. I AM NOT vacuuming out a mini-van EVER! Thanks for reading and for your amazing comment. I am happy it struck a chord and that you understand what I am saying! 😊

  3. That was brilliant.

    • the incurable dreamer

      Thank you so much for reading and for the wonderful compliment!

  4. Well…I am the domesticated. I’ve vacuumed out a mini van and I’ve sat there weeding a garden and I think to myself. Am I really happy? Questions like that have no easy answer. I do know that you’re right; Lemonade making is a group sport…and after years of getting picked last in gym class (gym class is SERIOUSLY the worst) I decided the best way to get a team to love me was to give birth to one (it was a long game plan but therein lies it’s brilliance). See the darkness doesn’t discriminate. It takes the gypsies and the domesticated alike. It’s my kids who shine the light when I’m feeling a little lost and my roots have me so tethered that I know I’ll never be able to venture very far…but I’m still looking for the darned switch that will tackle the darkness forever….and maybe a housekeeper who will tackle the mini van and the gardens 😉

    • the incurable dreamer

      This comment brought a huge smile to my face and I will tell you why. Just from reading your words I am able to sense the love you have for your kids and the joy they bring to your life. It’s beautiful! And that makes me so incredibly happy. I have always associated unhappiness with children, and families stuck together inside four walls they are clamouring to break through – to set themselves free. But that is my experience and my affliction and what is directing me down the path I am on. I know this is not a true portrait of every family, but life has a funny way of colouring the canvas as only you see it, making it difficult to see it any other way. You remind me, that love does exist inside the walls I see only from afar, and that dreams can still take flight. Mine is not an easy path – alone, seeking something I am not yet able to see – but no matter what my beautiful lemon squeezing gang will be there when I need them. I will never be alone. And my hope is, that one day, I too will find that same switch that will free me from the darkness that lives inside me. Thanks so much for reading and commenting, I appreciate it so much! And, I am rooting for a housekeeper for your mini-van! 😊

  5. Di

    Very entertaining while still being raw and honest. Glad to read you ended your week feeling better, even though I’m a big proponent for sitting with your lemons before you make lemonade. All the best 🌟🌺🌺

    • the incurable dreamer

      Thank you so much, Di. I am so glad you stopped by and I appreciate your comment very much! I believe that lemons are essential to growth, and without them, we would never grow. I feel blessed, in fact, lucky that I have had to deal with so many lemons in the past 3 years because, without them, I wouldn’t be where I am now. So I totally understand what you are saying! Thanks so much! 🙂

      • Di

        Hello ‘the incurable dreamer’👋🏽. I hope this message reaches you as I’ve had trouble replying through my notifications section🤔
        . Thank you for your lovely reply. You are welcome… as a dreamer myself, I really enjoyed your post. And to be able to say you are thankful for your lemons… truly an awakened spiritual person you are in my opinion. Thank you again and see you in another post soon 🙏🏼💕🌟

        • the incurable dreamer

          Hi Di! Yes, your message found its way to me. Again, thank you so much! I like to think of myself this way, so it makes me happy when others see it in me. I love to laugh at the absurdity of life, but I am also always searching for deeper meaning and understanding. I believe that beauty exists everywhere and in the darkest of times is sometimes where it is most radiant. Looking forward to sharing this journey with you! 😘

  6. I was thinking that I have a son who could use his lemons squeezing, or sometimes a gentle kick up the… Life isn’t going at all well for him right now, but he’s loved. 🙂 🙂
    Coming at ya from Gabe’s place. No lemons this weekend – right?

    • the incurable dreamer

      Jo – I sure hope your son finds a way to squeeze those lemons and that things turn around for him. There is so much opportunity and beauty waiting for him, and my hope is that he soon looks around with his eyes wide open, sees what awaits him and grabs hold.
      I am ready for a lemon-free weekend, so it should be a great one! Thanks!
      Thank you so much for stopping by and commenting, it means a lot. That Gabe is incredible, and I am so happy he has brought so many amazing people my way!
      All the best to you and your son, Jo! 🙂

  7. Love is the important thing, isn’t it? The soul-grower. Certainly not things stuffed in our garages, the make of our minivans, the hours spent vacuuming, or how many pairs of shoes fill our closets. Love, learning, stretching our boundaries, following dreams, finding value in the lessons of the lemons, making a difference in some small way, The things that matter often can’t be held in our hands. They’re invisible, priceless, and free. Wonderful post. Thanks for the smile. 🙂

    • the incurable dreamer

      Thank you so much for understanding my post, and seeing it for exactly what it is. Yes, love is everything and is what teaches us day after day. Life is full of magic, and I want to see and feel everything and continue learning and loving – it is what feeds my soul and my happiness. And to me, that is all that matters. I don’t need power windows or a fancy house. I don’t want to miss another second of this life, because what a gift it has been. You are a very enlightened and incredible person, and your thoughts and comments always affect me and teach me. Thank you. For everything.

  8. “How the hell are you supposed to get a grip on even one goddamn lemon to start squeezing when you’re getting knocked on your ass from constant flying fucking fruit?” hahahahahaha! Ugh you delight the shit out of me!
    When I was 18, I overheard my 26year old friend on the phone saying to her husband “Yea…no…2 percent! Get some 2 percent! It’s the green cap! Yea! Uh huh, love you too bye” and i was HORRIFIED. It just rubbed me the wrong way and I was like “May I never be so domesticated ! Ever!”

    • the incurable dreamer

      You equally delight the shit out of me! And dude, if I had heard that same conversation when I was 18, I would have immediately started hyperventilating. Maybe I am going to live a lonely life, but I just can’t imagine taking turns dusting every Saturday. Poke my eyeballs out and gag me with a spoon! Ahhhh!! I would much rather get nasty with a family size bag of Doritos, while lounging in my pj’s…alone. I KNOW… I’ve got some serious problems!

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