Growing up, I had an almost Disney Princess view of life. Not that I ever imagined an actual prince would come, though for a time I had a wicked crush on Prince William, but more because I had that wild optimism of youth–one that just assumed somehow that if I worked hard enough at them, pursued them doggedly enough, my dreams would come true. Sure, I was aware of disappointment in general. But, for the most part, I really had no idea that dreams actually do not come true sometimes. And because of this lack of awareness, I had no idea what you’re supposed to do when your dreams don’t come true. It was all alien to me, which created some interesting life lessons, for sure.
And while I’m definitely not well-versed in this, I learned a little something about dreams and what happens when they don’t come true, how to handle them, and what needs to take place in order for you to move on. I learned all of this in one very unexpected place, my backyard.
But let me explain…
When we first moved into our house I had all of these plans. I just knew that if we did all of the things right, exactly as I pictured them, our family would be GOOD. We would have gatherings, we would make memories. We would be happy. We would be good.
Most of these things, of course, were physical changes and additions to the house. A keeping up with the Joneses kind of desire to create the spaces we needed on the outside so that we could work on the inside. One of them was the addition of an outdoor patio–an extended covered outdoor room with an outside kitchen, a lounge area for couches, and a giant table to share meals. I just knew in my heart of hearts if we had this built, we would spend hours out there. I pictured cookouts with family and friends, games with the kids, quiet time with Jeff after the kids went to bed. I pictured a family retreat.
By some miracle of God, I was able to convince Jeff to have it built. Which, if you know my husband and his extremely frugal tendencies, you understand exactly why this is a miracle. Nevertheless, build it we did. We chose a contractor, designed it, planned it, and set a date to start. I was so convinced this was IT. The start of our happiness, the place where we could be good, where we could make our family work. So much so that I remember standing at our back windows, baby Kenzie on my hip and little boys hanging on to my legs, watching them pour concrete with a sense of anticipation and new beginnings. Excitement and joy.
NOW….WE WILL BE HAPPY. NOW MY DREAMS WILL COME TRUE.
Friends, none of my dreams for this space came true. Sure, there were some cookouts and memorable gatherings, but for the most part, the only person who used the patio was the person who dreamed it into life–me. It never materialized into a family gathering spot. We didn’t hold a plethora of cookouts with our wide circle of friends (because we don’t have one). And Jeff and I never once used it as a “date night” location (despite that one time I created a recurring event on our calendar inviting him to our “patio night.”) It just never quite took off as I imagined.
Over time the patio, and the yard around it, fell into a state of disrepair. I mean, this is Texas and unless you’re on top of things around here, the wind, the heat, the dust, and the general tomfoolery of the weather will wreak havoc on your outdoor spaces. I didn’t want this, of course, but I began to resent the hours I would spend each spring cleaning it by myself, wiping everything down, sweeping, power washing, only to be disappointed yet again, as my dreams were dashed and my invitations rejected. I was defeated and the patio, well, it was defeated in return. So I ignored it. It got gross. Dust. Dirt. Dried leaves and grass. A grill so covered in years of grease and grime it was a fire hazard. Even the random animal track or dropping that I was far too terrified to explore. And every time I let my dog out, approximately 400 times a day, I would feel a wash of that same disappointment again. The grief. The shame. I let the dream die and the space go dormant because it was too sad for me to deal with.
I don’t know what’s different about this year. Maybe it’s that I’m finally, after all of these years, growing up and figuring stuff out. Or maybe I’m just tired of looking outside and feeling sad. Who knows? But whatever it is, this year I decided to tackle the patio and restore it to its previous glory, no matter what it took. (spoiler alert: it took a lot) So armed with a giant broom, a bucket full of suds, and a roll of paper towels I went to work.
Which is great and wonderful and I applaud my enthusiasm. But somehow, around hour two, it became glaringly obvious that this was a lot deeper than just some surface cleaning. In fact, it had nearly nothing to do with the actual cleaning. It had everything to do with grieving.
See, as I swept, I couldn’t shake the image of that sweet, hopeful young mom. I could see her standing there, watching the concrete pour her dreams into place. I watched, again, as she tried so stinking hard to manufacture her dreams, to bring her family along. I saw what this space meant to her. And then I saw what it had become.
Y’ALL, THEY WERE NOT THE SAME. AND IT HURT. DEEPLY.
With each stroke of my broom, the tears fell. I was sweeping dust and debris and years of neglect away. But along with it went my dreams and hopes for this space. I grieved as I dusted and swept and scrubbed. I let go of a picture, an idea of what I wanted. My cleaning was making peace with the fact that my dream was never really about the patio–it was about what I wanted my family to be, my marriage to feel like, but never quite got. That day on the patio I laid that dream to rest. And it was incredibly painful.
But 42-year old Meaghan, this dirty and dusty woman grieving something that never was, knows a little bit more than that young hopeful woman. She’s a bit wiser and she understands a bit more about life and love and relationships. Enough, at least, to realize that this grief, while excruciating, was necessary in order for her to move forward. This dream had to be mourned before it could be put away to make space for a new dream. 42-year old Meaghan is also wise enough to know now that just because her dreams didn’t materialize exactly as she wanted them to, her real life, with all of its bumps and bruises, has also given her something quite amazing in its place–a family that loves hard and fights to stay together and work it out, even in the hard times. A real family filled with real people, with all of their quirks and their idiosyncrasies and weirdness. And that, friends, is good.
The kids are now older and spend more time with their friends than with us. They aren’t interested in hanging out with mom and dad every night on the couch, no matter where it is. But they will eat burgers and they will invite friends over to eat. So we will create a new dream for the grill and the outdoor kitchen. We’ll include their friends that we’ve known for years, who are more family than anything else. This is a new dream–a bigger dream–one the kids buy into. Jeff and I never quite connected on the patio the way I dreamed we would. But we are stronger now despite this lack. I know and understand him so much better, as he does me, and we’ve been able to create a unique way of connecting that works for both of us. Not just me. I didn’t need a patio for any of that. In fact, the patio is not ours anymore. It’s mine.
It’s mine now because it has always been my dream. And mine alone. Here I can build new dreams there that are mine. I can fill the patio with flowers and plants and comfy spots to read and pray and connect with friends. I can string lights for girls’ dinners and quiet nights by the fire pit (which I’m 100% getting, by the way). I can create a space where I can be comfortable and inspired and bloom. These are dreams bring to life because they’re mine. I’m not relying on anyone else to buy into them. They’re all mine. And that’s a good thing.
I am proud of this space right now. I’m proud of the woman who laid one dream to rest and built another one in its place. I am excited for the future of it, hopeful even. I am not relying on anyone else to buy into this dream or require their participation to make it come true. It’s all mine, my responsibility. And I know now, that this is how dreams should be. Created wisely with the outcome in your own hands. Anything else, it’s just setting yourself up for disappointment and grief.
My family might come along and begin to love this space as I do. And that would be wonderful. But friends, because it’s my dream, it doesn’t matter if they don’t. Because it is good just as it is. MINE.
It is devastating when your dreams don’t come true. You can’t run from this pain. You can’t hide from it. And you certainly can’t let years of dust and dirt cover it up.
Well, I guess the truth is that you can. But eventually, if you ever want to build a new dream, a different dream, one that just might come true, you’re going to have to look the old one dead in the face. You’re going to have to grieve it, to mourn the loss. It’s ok to cry. It’s ok to maniacally clean the innermost workings of your gas grill until you’re covered from head to toe in grease, too. (just saying).
Do whatever it is you need to do to grieve that dream, to let it go. I can’t promise that there is going to be something new at the end of it, something better. But I can promise that grieving it will create the space within your heart for the possibility of a new dream. And from that possibility, hope can bloom. And hope, dear friends, is the most beautiful of all dreams you can have.
Peace, love, and dreams,
Meg
Welcome to BurntToast! My name is Meaghan, and this is my safe space, a place where we can share stories, share recipes and share life. It’s my dream that you can come here, kick your shoes off and pour yourself a glass of wine while you read, laugh, and maybe even hop into the kitchen. This is my heart, for all of you to see. And ALL are welcome here.