I’m driving to Maryland with my sister over the holiday and she’s controlling the radio, picking episodes of her favorite podcasts for us to listen to. At the moment it's The Moth – people are telling stories, most ending with some take-away or lesson, and this particular story’s moral is “Have a big dream.”
I think about that. A Big Dream. It feels like I’ve heard this so many times in the past couple of years – the importance of dreaming big. Know what your end game is. Think big. Plan how to get there. Maybe this mantra is embedded in our culture, part of the American Dream. Or maybe it is just a message that makes my ears prick up.
So what is my Big Dream? I think and I think, this Sunday afternoon in the car, but all that I can think of is my two boys back at home. Being mom to those two boys, that is my dream.
It’s simple. It’s small. Not small as in “unimportant.” Small as in everyday. Ordinary. On the surface, there is nothing Big about this dream.
I wonder, Why must dreams be Big to matter? Don’t Everyday Dreams merit attention too? Do we cheat ourselves by not realizing that?