I like to dream. Not necessarily realistic dreams, but happy cushy ones where I am sitting on a couch in a dim flat in West Sussex with a few small grey kittens decorated with blue bows around their necks and drinking tea while speaking with Beatrix Potter as the rain pitters softly on the morning glories creeping up the window outside just behind Beatrix’s shoulder.
This sort of dreaming is mostly used to distract oneself from a horrible task at hand such as shoveling poo in a barn on a warm squish day. I always focused more on being a good worker, rather than considering and chasing these dreams, mostly because they were unattainable. Dreams were always far off silly ideas, like, maybe I will host my own radio show/ song time on London news station. These dreams are wonderful, but grossly fat. I want to start having dreams with passion and capabilities of ascension. Logical, ambitious real life, dreams.
The neat thing about next year is that Florianopolis offers the ability to consider a way of life or a dream on a totally different track than my American college normal self would have. There are a multitude of dreams out and about that are equally wonderful. What a joy that myself and the other fellows will get to see those that float about in Florianopolis. Maybe they will be similar to the ones we thought up back home. I am anxious to find out. I want to see the goals of 18 year old women in Brazil, what is alike? We probably both pursue beach bods and respect. Understanding what people generally want from life, in a global sense, will be interesting. I think we all as humans want basic things from life such as a peaceful environment, and loved ones around us; but maybe for 18 year old girls in Florianopolis, there are larger goals worth fighting for. Whatever the case, just thinking about the place fills me with a gooey honey happiness.
