A young man came to my office today. He asked to speak with me. All he wanted to do was to talk about his dreams for his future. He'd chosen to talk to me because, he said, I must be a dreamer too. I asked him what he meant and he said that he knew that life must have been hard for me because I was, he paused to think of a word, 'big' and because I was in a wheelchair and because I was gay and YET he said, and YET, I seemed happy and successful. You must be good at dreaming he said.
I then listened as he dreamed BIG.
I felt like I was sitting at the edge of something very sacred. I felt that I was being given the opportunity to see into his soul, into the very heart of him. I felt like I made "I" contact with his mind's eye.
It was a humbling experience.
It was an honouring experience.
It was a moment to remember.
As he finished we drifted into talking about the 'how' behind his dreams. About the path that he saw himself on. He knew that he needed help to get where he wanted to go and he wanted me to give him ideas.
And I did.
What surprised him though, was that I wasn't finished dreaming. That I still had a vision of my future and the path yet ahead of me. He'd thought my dreaming was done. That I'd arrived at my goal.
I suppose that the young see the old that way.
As he left he thanked me for my time.
For listening to him.
For being "wise," he said.
And I thanked him for his trust.
And for the wisdom I saw in him.
And then he left.
I was changed, in a small way, changed.
Dreams do that.
And much, much, more.
You know how I know?
I have it on good authority that I'm good at dreaming.