Living the Dream…?

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

When did you let go of your great big dreams or put your once exuberant soul to slumber?


Then I took the next most likely leap of faith and filled my room with space – outer space – because I just had to know what heaven was all about. After Shaun Cassidy faded from the scene, posters of rockets and galaxies and even F-16 Fighting Falcons and F-15 Eagles graced my bedroom walls – because I knew you had to start somewhere and jet pilots were frequently chosen to be astronauts. I’m not quite sure when that dream faded from view – it was a focal point of my Tomboy days for sure, along with my wardrobe fixation of flannel shirts and waffle stompers. I’m sure my mother wondered where her little girl disappeared to.

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Enter the late 70’s and early 80’s and the debut of the epic television series FAME. I was convinced I would be the next Coco played by Erica Gimpel (she even shared my name – though not the spelling of it, darn it all) flying across the stage with athletic rhythm along with singing and even acting! I played Scrooge in our 5th-grade play and nailed it! Then we moved to Virginia where I put in hours and hours of practice choreographing dance routines in the cool air of our basement during our stint in Washington DC for my father’s job. I practiced the piano religiously and played competitively – first under the tutelage of an old bat who rapped my knuckles with a ruler over any mistake and then under the angel of all piano teachers, Mrs. Pataro, who believed in me and encouraged me and saw me shine at every piano recital and guild competition. I was going to make it as a star somehow! I even lived in a metropolitan area where the dream really could come true (not some hick MT town from whence I came!) Anyone heard of the Kennedy Center?


Ah yes, those were the good days when anything was possible. By the time I reached high school we were living out west again (but far from Hollywood) and it was time to start settling down and setting real goals (according to my father.) By then I was writing – quite prolifically. Ronald Reagan was president and I hung on every single word of his speeches. They were brilliant in my mind, and so I determined I would become a presidential speechwriter and then the White House press secretary. Having been exposed to the world of government and politics when one could be proud of both, this seemed a worthy avenue to pursue. While it may not have been as concrete a goal in terms of landing a job post-graduation as becoming a nurse, a teacher, or astronaut, it was at least academic.


And so I pursued mass communications and political science with a focus on public administration in college. I put in my time in a U.S. Senator’s field office (what an eye-opening experience THAT was into the true nature of politics and one’s constituents…a.k.a Your Constituents Hate You 101), the Public Relations office of the Bureau of Land Management (Bureaucracy and Politics 202), and interned at the CBS news affiliate in Billings (You Have a Face for Radio 402). Everything seemed to be falling into place, right? Except by the time I graduated from college life had gotten in the way of my dreams in a rather dire way. Rather than graduating into the field of my choice, I spent considerable time (and money) in the hospital and then recovery. By the time that ordeal was behind me, my dreams seemed out of reach and unrealistic so I took whatever job I could find that would help me emerge back into the land of the living and make a living. I have been working my way through the land of the living rather than the life of my dreams for some 25 years now. I have a great job and a vast array of experiences behind me, but my dreams are still just that – dreams.


I bring all this up now as we watch the launch into space of the 82- year old Wally Funk, who was on the first crewed flight into space by the rocket company Blue Origin. Funk is the oldest person ever to travel into space. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to go up,” Funk is quoted as saying.


Years ago, Funk had dreams like I did. Then a 21-year-old pilot, she was the youngest of the 13 women who passed the same rigorous testing as the Mercury Seven male astronauts in NASA’s program that first sent Americans into space between 1961 and 1963 but were denied the chance to become astronauts themselves because of their gender. She went on to become the first female flight instructor at a U.S. military base and the first woman to become an air safety investigator for the National Transportation Safety Board. But she never went into space – until now. She did not live out her ultimate dream – to venture into outer space – at least on her schedule – but she made the best of her pursuit nonetheless. I doubt her life was one of ennui or regret. Quite the contrary it appears, for in various interviews she recounts a very full and vibrant life utilizing her gifts and skills to help many others, especially women, achieve their own dreams of flight.


Which begs the question that corresponds to one of my boss’s favorite lines: “I’m living the dream.” Just how does one live the dream? And furthermore, what defines a dream worth living for?


If you were to go back to your launching pad into life, what would you do differently, if anything, to achieve the dream(s) you once had? What stopped you from attaining them? Money, health, lack of education, family issues, or circumstances beyond your control? Maybe it was a more personal reason: doubt, fear, lack of vision, or a commitment to others above yourself.


Or, maybe you are one of the lucky ones who had a dream, chased it, and realized it. What now? Is living the dream any different than pursuing life as best possible?


As one who may have more years behind me than ahead – unless I somehow manage to defy my octogenarian heredity-fated lifespan – I wonder if it is worth taking time away from living my best life to pursue living the life I dreamed of? Is it worth asking the question “What could have been, if…?” Am I setting myself up for a nostalgic walk down “What-a-Failure Way”?


Or, maybe I am already realizing the dreams I once had but in my own unique and different way? I’m not an ordained Pastor with my own church but I am a Lay Pastoral Associate serving and preaching in the church and walking closely with God in His grand creation; I’m not a star of the stage and screen but I am singing – on a stage even – (when we can safely resume that art) – though no one would pay to hear me; I don’t dance much anymore but I would with a partner; I’m not a concert pianist but I have two pianos that I play with great abandon for an enrapt canine audience; I’m not flying into space but I can climb to what I now consider heaven on earth during less crowded times, and though I am not representing the President of the United States, I do write for a pretty swell boss and have my own blog!


“Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;”

How about you? Are you living your dream or living your best life possible? Is there a difference?


Whatever your answer, I think we can all raise a toast to Wally Funk in her flight to the heavens above. She has lived a life with a heart for any fate, still achieving, still pursuing, learning to labor, and to wait. I pray that when I come to the end of mine, I will be able to say the same.

 


A Psalm of Life
What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Let Your Light So Shine!!!

Thirsting for Adventure…

“If you don’t die of thirst, there are blessings in the desert.”
Never before have I considered drowning myself in a lake… yesterday, I came very close to doing just that.

After navigating the insanity of the 5am traffic on the west side of The Going to the Sun Road (ah, I remember way back when….) My two hiking companions for the first leg of the day – who were backpacking in for a two-night stay – and I were pleasantly surprised to find the Saint Mary Valley void of anything but expansive views, 2 bears, and a few respectful humans. Clouds hung o’er the valley from the previous night’s storm giving definition to the sky and the mountains below. I was a bit frustrated at first, having missed the early light of the day casting its glow on their eastern faces thanks to the d#$@ traffic, but the mountains still sang their morning story. I rethought my initial ire – giving thanks instead that so many people value something as beautiful and life-giving as God’s creation as I do.


The trailhead was deserted! A bit daunting when one has never hiked this way before, but even for me it was a straightforward route (Though my Alltrails app kept saying otherwise.) We soon realized those clouds were our friends but unlike true friends, they deserted us when we needed them most.


The morning light was soft as I made my way to Red Eagle Lake – thank God for the neverending views of my destination – though the water would only come into view the last 1/4 mile. Fire has decimated any earthly source of shade in this valley and by 9am I was becoming increasingly aware that this day would be a long hot one. The eight + miles to the lake passed fairly quickly. The wind shrieked through the stands of petrified trees at times, hauntingly so – even on a HOT and bright day. I felt as though the spirits of my past were walking with me – and soon I was working things out with them. Amazing how 8 miles can disappear when one is lost in thought.


Nestled at the base of a few of East Glacier’s impressive red peaks, Red Eagle Lake is a beautiful destination – the journey to and from less so – at least on a 90-degree day. The wind off the water was invigorating though – and I actually got a bit chilled. I would need that distant memory later in the afternoon. The lapping of the water, a lullaby that almost made me forget I still had a long journey back.


Cognizant that sun and heat were not on my side and would only grow more intense as the afternoon wore on, I departed the cool waters and headed east. The expanse of which did not thrill my eyes as my destination’s alluring views had. I had a long, hot, and dry solo journey ahead of me.


It’s funny what you think about when you realized you weren’t thinking when you packed your pack. I did not bring enough water for one thing – a very bad one thing to do… I started playing a game with myself – when I crossed a footbridge or suspension bridge I could take a sip of water. While the river that rushed next to me could be a source of water, it was only a tease as accessing that rapid refreshment wasn’t as easy or safe as needed. I felt my skin dehydrating and crinkling. Small patches of shade created by the brush were like desert oases to my eyes. And then I discovered the biting flies – I had sweated away all the bug repellant I had previously applied and now the flies were hungry. If I stopped to open my pack they attacked so I just kept walking – as fast as I could – which created a slight breeze – so there was a small blessing realized.


I love challenges like this. No, it is not the same as climbing a peak, but the will to keep going always kicks in whether you are summiting a peak, or enduring a hot, desolate trail. The body can withstand a lot if you train it properly. The mind can too. I can handle days like this long, hard, sweaty – it’s the other ones when I can’t prove myself through physical means that get me.


Needless to say, in 17 miles I learned what a precious commodity water is and reaffirmed how very much I need this natural escape from reality on a regular basis. (It seems lots of people do). That I pretty much had this trail all to myself aside from two backpackers hiking out from a night’s stay and a group of Hutterites in full-garb I met at the end who inquired if they had much farther to go (!!!) was good and bad. Though I detest the masses of people clamoring for selfies on the prime trails, I enjoy meeting the random kindred hiker in the middle of nowhere.


The water of Saint Mary Lake was an incredible reprieve after 6 hours (was that all it was??) in the scorching sun. I wanted to drink the entire lake and let her waves wash me away. The fact that I left my car window wide open and nothing had been disturbed – was a sign that there is still lots of good in this world.


A long hot day is once again in the books. Another page in the adventures of Erika Morck written. I am grateful for it.