the problem with myself is that i have always been a dreamer. now, i understand that the first step to accomplishing anything in life is probably to have a dream, but it seems that my own general issues come from actually stepping out of the dream world and making things happen in real life, so if you're looking for me, you'll find me having tea in LaLa Land.
currently, i live in a shared space in Brooklyn. i do love my cozy little quarters, but it's a FAR cry from the grand, airy, stone villa in the south of France surrounded by fields of waving lavender that i always imagined to be my official place of residence since the time i learned to read and figured out there had to be sexier rural settings than upstate NY. Paris would be a few hours removed through a pleasant drive in my small Renault or Peugeot, or top-of-the-line, latest BMW hybrid suv, which would be just fine, too. in this version of my dream, my trunk would be packed with fragrant cheeses, some crusty breads, fresh picked field flowers and a fine Bordeaux to share with my Parisian city-amis, where i would switch up all those fresh trunk goodies for some equally nice city goodies, say shoes and shirts and scarves and dresses and eccentric hand jewelry, from the Marais. on the way home, i'd call my stable-keep on my cute, non-smartphone Euro-cell to get my finest Arabian mare ready, as we'd be going on a long trail ride when i returned, me with my velvet-lined black riding hat (which i really do already own, in anticipation) topping off the rest of my finely tailored riding threads. after that ride, i'd take a light meal consisting of cream-and-wineish something on my stone patio overlooking a fine Provencian valley, where i'd sit and wonder, in my now fluent French, how everyone back in the States is doing, being that, why not, i could think about them from time to time. a perfect breeze would toss my hair lightly about my shoulders a little then as i checked my watch (in Europe, i might wear a watch. a nice dainty silver one picked up somewhere in the back streets of Paris) and figured that right then would be as good a time as any to take an early evening dip in my perfectly unobtrusive pool before heading out for the night to a small theater production in Aix.
wow. coming out of that one back to the reality of Williamsburg sure ain't no Parisian Picnic, but you know what? I'd like to take a moment to think of and thank Thoreau here, with his seriously-Frenchy sounding last name: "Go," he said, "confidently in the direction of your dreams."
i'm goin, buddy, i'm going.
