I lay down on my bed, both my arms outstretched up to the ceiling that was gathering dust. My hands are widespread and I imagine them reaching for something. But reaching for what? It was then that I realized that I had no dream.
Who was a man if not for his dreams?
Here I was, only months away from turning twenty eight. While already over the first blush of youth, it was still young to go gung-ho. I find myself procrastinating about things I should do today because, honestly, it still could be postponed for another day. And what was the point? They were merely day to day, month to month chores that had minimal effect on my existence. Even if I didn't do it today, one day or the next the bills will still get paid and the milk will still be bought.
I've lived in a rut for seven years and I've struggled to get out it. I was moderately successful doing it, getting out of the rat-race and into... what exactly? I'm starting to think I've just exchanged my previous rut into something more comfortable - with soft mattresses and a widescreen television instead of wooden desk and hard office tile floors.
And so, I realize that I need a dream, something to fire up my blood and make me wake up with anticipation for a brand new day. But there is none. There is nothing on the top of my mind that makes me say, "Damn, I would regret not doing that."
Did I reach the plateau too fast? Am I just not that ambitious enough? Is this just some temporary ennui that will pass? Or will I find something to be passionate about someday, maybe tomorrow, just around the corner?
How long will I keep reaching out for a dream that isn't there?