​Dreams

Context: My brother whose whole life has revolved around wrestling recently wrestled his last collegiate match at the NCAA tournament and lost. Losing his last chance to place at the national tournament and achieve what has been his lifelong dream. He’s been really down lately and I wrote this short piece for him.

Dreams

I knew a kid who loved to dream. Of greatness, of glory. Of triumph and achievement. Those dreams were his drive, his heart, his body and blood. To dream so big was a tremendous weight upon the kid’s shoulders, but he would carry it, and with passion too. How infectious it was, that light, that fire; it was hard not to dream his dreams with him. It was almost unthinkable that anything would stand between him and his ambition, as adversity upon adversity were met with rigid determination. Unfortunately, the unthinkable can still happen, more often than anyone would like to admit. The universe isn’t objective or subjective, it’s chaotic. That being said, the kid found himself afflicted in ways he couldn’t have imagined. He was thrown around, beaten, and battered in the most literal sense. He was often made to think he was nothing but his dreams. It’s remarkable that he even kept pushing forward. I guess dreams are one hell of a drug, one that you’ll take regardless of the downsides it comes with. The path he walked toward his goal was filled with more of the same. It became almost egregious that this kid was dealt such a lethal hand, but he would never quit. He put his head down, and he worked. This time fueled by anger, by hate. Spite, and revenge. However, these things don’t fuel dreams, at least not well. He was a kind kid at heart, so he understood that, forcing his feelings to submit to his resolve. Eventually, the dream became an idea, the thought that once it was achieved, it would all be worth it. All his work, all the things he endured, stamped onto the world for all to see. However, things didn’t work out that way. Dreams were crushed. All he wanted was for the world to see his dream, and remember him for it. What he didn’t realize, however, is that the world had seen it. It radiated off of him at all times, in his face, his body, and spirit. It was impossible not to see, or remember, how he carried himself in spite of everything that stood in his way. Whether he knew it or not, every single step he took was forged in triumph, the same kind he dreamed about. I know that kid well enough to know that he’s not happy with sentimental stuff like that. He’s already dreaming a new dream. One even grander than the last. One that he will achieve.