"What happens to a dream deferred?" – Langston Hughes
Defer – put off, postpone; submit to the opinion or judgment of others [in my case in the absence of other opinions or in spite of my fears]
I didn't dream; as a youngster I didn't know what it was to dream, imagine, or how to hope -- not really. I had a notion about writing, knew I liked it and received occasional praise for how I phrased sentences or wrote a paragraph, even an essay. I drafted a few promising pieces but suffered a broken spirit by even slight criticism. I adored words, revelled in them; thoroughly enjoyed reading, loved how some could wield power and stir the imagination with their writings. Stories were interesting inventions but I dared not imagine that I could assemble a plausible storyline, fill it with interesting characters, or craft intelligent dialogue. However, I felt great when I wrote. Time collapsed when I wrote.
Back to the question of what happens to a [my] dream deferred? My notion grew sullen, melancholy and lazy; these fledgling thoughts of penning words took deeper refuge in my shy personality. During my academic years the writing demands in literature classes constricted my imagination. I could not recognize opportunities to branch other styles. I lacked the discipline to learn the mechanics of grammar subsequently, writing paralysis set in. No professors, guides nor muse appeared to help me or acknowledge nascent skills. Introversion seized my timid soul, my few words lapsed into a coma, my passion faint until years later, until now.
But the moratorium is over. I dare to dream of the flow of words, sentiments, and ideas flooding my consciousness daily. It is no longer simply the "I" that wants to speak out but the Spirit within that seeks to be freed. I recognize that I have been given gifts that must be shared—my medium is the printed word (though I wish I could sing). It wants to elicit a hearing, to extend an invitation to action, to inspire others to service. It is not I but the Spirit within that seeks greater expression. I shall not tarry nor brook delay further for I am a world of possibility for creative expression. And yes my ego lives too, it wants to be excellent at something, something real, something that is me.
So what happened to my dream deferred? It has awakened from its comatose state, it is ravenous, and anxious to get out and about! I dream of words and they want to play.
