from the vault: dream big

Growing up, every night before making the dreaded walk to my bedroom, I’d take one last look around the living room, hating the thought that I might be missing an entertaining guest on The Late Show with David Letterman, then I’d tell my parents goodnight. My dad’s response was always “sleep tight and dream big,” then he’d give me a tight hug and a kiss. 

I’d smile and nod my head, then walk to my room and lay my head on the pillow. In the dark, with only the glow of a clock or night light, thoughts of the future would swirl around in my mind.

My dad might have just meant in my dreams for that night, but I took the lesson to heart.

I was the girl who never thought any dream was too big - a wide-eyed dreamer, who never stopped to think about the reality of something not working out. I would jump at the chance for a new opportunity, not assessing the risk or failure that might come with it. I was quiet, but always said what I needed to. I had many friends, but only a few I held close. I spent most afternoons with my grandparents and I loved to help people. I held my faith in God close to my heart and on my sleeve.

While most kids wanted to play tetherball or basketball at recess, I was dreaming up stories and wanting to reenact or rewrite my favorite scenes from television shows I’d watched the night before, like “Lizzie McGuire” or “Full House. Many of my friends found it strange or didn’t understand my interest in those things and at the time, I thought everyone was interested in the entertainment industry like I was.

Never the one to speak out of turn, I always found myself drawn to the spotlight of the stage.

I wanted to act. I wanted to sing. I wanted to write.

One of the first stories I can recall writing as a child was a story about a cat, who wanted to be a pop star, like Britney Spears. In unoriginal fashion, her name was Kitney Spears and she had big dreams and aspirations. Her friends and family didn’t quite understand her ambitions and the path she wanted to take. When she finally made it, they cheered and apologized for not believing in her from the start.

Always performing for family and friends, I eventually joined the drama team at church and in elementary school at the age of 10. It was easier to find myself in a character and have the answers at my disposal, than it was to wing it through life, wondering what was going to come next or how I was going to say it. It didn’t feel like something I needed to force, it was something I just sort of slipped into, like it had been there all along.

Going into my tweens and teenage years, my passions were different than most, as well. I could memorize dialogue from movies and TV shows after only one watch, but ask me what was first on the periodic table of elements and I would’ve blanked. I wrote whenever I could - lunch breaks, a few minutes of downtime in class, or on my phone on the way home.

I lived and breathed whatever I could of the entertainment industry - researching, attending events, like “The Lizzie McGuire Movie” premiere red carpet, and learning as much about the behind the scenes process as I could, especially living just two hours away from where the magic happens.

Dream big, while simple in nature, was a phrase that meant more to me than just something I held onto at night. To be more. To do more. To live more. Getting older, I realized the statement of “dream big” was not enough on its own. I held onto it, but I fought harder. My focus shifted in college. I would be a journalist and tell other people’s stories. Still, it was storytelling and it felt right.

It got me the degree. It landed me a job in public relations, along with other opportunities that advanced me in my career. It helped me find new passions and mediums for storytelling. And yet, it seems that after you turn 25 and have a good life, you wonder if there could be more. If you could do more. Sometimes you lose yourself along the way and forget why you started in the first place.

Earlier this year, I found a photo of myself when I was younger - the wide-eyed girl who didn’t know what was to come. I slipped the photo onto my dresser mirror and decided then and there that I was going to find her again. I was going to promise that little girl in the picture that I was going to keep dreaming big, even if it killed me. I knew the wide-eyed optimistic girl was in there somewhere. I just needed to take some time to find her again.