The Mirage of One Fine Day: My Dreams

The Mirage of One Fine Day- My Dreams

We all hold onto the hope of experiencing that "One Fine Day." It's like a beautiful illusion residing in the depths of our minds, where all our dreams are securely nestled within a perfect shell, patiently awaiting us. Yet, life's peculiar nature ensures that with each new day, the scenery alters, and the horizon seems to stretch a bit further away.

We live in expectation of "One Fine Day"—that elusive, perfect horizon where our dreams are finally gathered, secure and waiting. This comforting mirage takes shape in the quiet corners of our minds, promising that eventually, the chaos will calm, and our constant striving will transform into simply being.

However, the passage of time plays its trick, as each morning we awaken to find the landscape has shifted, and the horizon has moved just a bit beyond our grasp.

The Childhood Shell

I recall dreaming about it as a child. At that time, the shell was quite small—just simple, innocent childhood wishes. But then I’d wake up and think, “Wait, I'm only ten years old.” I was too young and lacked any power. So, I’d return to my cozy nook, close my eyes, and dream again. And that shell of dreams? It expanded. It grew into all those massive expectations you have when you're young.

The shell expanded further, accommodating the grand, soaring expectations of youth.

The Twenties and the Demand of "Shall"

When I woke up next, I was in my twenties, and the very language of my reality had changed. The dream had to be sidelined because the world introduced me to the relentless vocabulary of shall.

I shall study harder. I shall pass my exams. I shall secure a job.

The timeline stretched. I pulled the blankets close, retreated to my cozy nook, and dreamt of the day after the work was done. But outside the safety of my mind, the shell of shall was only getting larger, encasing my desires in layers of professional ambition and societal expectations.

The Heavy Gravity of Midlife

Upon waking again, I found myself weighed down by the beautiful, heavy gravity of adult responsibilities. I had gotten married. There was a car to purchase, a house to construct. The shell expanded further, evolving into a fortress of mortgages, larger cars, and private spaces. The mirage drifted further away, a shimmering light on a highway I was speeding down just to keep pace with the life I had created.

I returned to my comforting nook, attempting to catch a glimpse of that original, unburdened dream.

Instead, the next awakening brought the urgent, relentless pressure of midlife—the absolute peak era of obligation. I awoke burdened with children's college tuitions looming large on the horizon, and the constant, loving weight of saving for their futures. Simultaneously, the generational tide was turning; there were aging parents who shall be cared for, protected, and guided gracefully through their twilight. I stood as the bridge between yesterday and tomorrow, my own desires locked away tightly inside an ever-thickening shell of duty.

The Weak Vessel, the Soaring Mind

Exhausted by the endless parameters of what tomorrow required, I retreated once more to my dreaming nook, seeking refuge in my comfort zone.

When I woke up, time had begun to claim its inevitable tax on my physical frame. I felt an inch shorter. My bone density was on the decline. I looked at the literal and metaphorical mountains of my youth and realized I dare not climb Everest now.

Yet, the dreaming never stopped. I remember watching the movie Avatar, deeply struck by the profound contrast of frail, failing limbs tethered to a spirit and mind that could transcend the physical body to soar to impossible, vibrant heights.

I woke up weak and tired in my seventies. Retirement had arrived. A few strands of silver hair flirted with me in the mirror—a badge of a life fully lived, a record of winters survived. But the daily dosage of statins mocked me from the counter, a quiet, clinical reminder of mortality.

So, I went back to the dream. I embellished it. I decorated it with all the lingering, unfulfilled desires of a lifetime, making it more beautiful, more intricate, and more vivid than it had ever been.

The Weak Vessel, the Soaring Mind

Worn out by the endless demands of what the future held, I retreated once more to my dreaming nook, seeking solace in my comfort zone.

Upon waking, I felt the inevitable toll time had taken on my body. I seemed an inch shorter, and my bone density was diminishing. I looked at the literal and metaphorical mountains of my youth and realized Everest was beyond my reach now.

Yet, the dreaming persisted. I recall watching the movie Avatar, struck by the stark contrast between frail, failing limbs and a spirit and mind capable of transcending the physical body to reach vibrant, impossible heights.

I awoke weak and weary in my seventies. Retirement had come. A few silver strands in the mirror flirted with me—a badge of a life well-lived, a testament to winters endured. Yet the statins on the counter quietly mocked me, a clinical reminder of mortality.

So, I returned to the dream. I embellished it, adorning it with all the lingering, unfulfilled desires of a lifetime, making it more beautiful, intricate, and vivid than ever before.

The Ultimate Awakening

And then I found myself in my eighties.

I sensed a subtle emptiness within. Some of my most reliable components—the joints and muscles that had supported me through years of running, striving, and creating—were deteriorating with age. My physical body was decelerating, succumbing to the burden of time.

But it is exactly through those cracks that the light gets in.

I looked back at the long trail of decades—at the houses, the college funds, the silver hair, and the fading strength. And in that quiet space, a sudden, sharp wave of realization hit me with the clarity of a morning bell. A quiet ache bloomed in my chest: I wished I had been just a little braver.

I wished I had possessed the courage to step completely out of my comfort zone and do it all along the way—back when my bones were stronger, my knees were steadier, and my leap was just a little longer. I had let the heavy walls of the shell of shall dictate my boundaries for so long, protecting my comfort while delaying my wildest dreams.

Yet, as I sat with that bittersweet regret, the deeper truth of the summit finally revealed itself.

The ache began to soften into a profound understanding: it was always the journey that counted, never the destination. The missed leaps and the moments of caution were just as much a part of the masterpiece as the victories. The true destination was written in the laughter that filled the rooms of those bigger houses, the pride of watching children step into their own futures, and the grace of caring for those who once cared for me. Every milestone achieved, every burden carried, and even every hesitation, was a deliberate brushstroke on the canvas of a life deeply, thoroughly lived.

The mortgages are paid. The children are grown. The heavy, suffocating layers of obligation have finally cracked open and fallen away, leaving behind a soul rich with memories, deep connections, and an enduring, hard-won peace.

Underneath all the doing, and all the wishing, I found what was waiting all along.

Not what I should do. Not what I could have done.

Rather: I am.

With a frail frame but a spirit that has never been more boundless, I turn back to my cozy nook. I close my eyes. I do not dream to escape my reality or my past anymore; I dream because my mind is free to soar, completely satisfied with the beautiful, imperfect journey behind me.

The Mirage of One Fine Day: My Dreams

Inside a quiet nook of thought, it starts,

A shimmering mirage for seeking hearts.

A fragile shell of wishes, small and bright,

Kept safe from all the shadows of the night.

I dreamed it first when I was only ten,

But woke too young to claim the horizon then.

The morning shifted, and the twenties came,

And duty touched the dream and changed its name.

The world marched in with heavy, steady tread,

And whispered words of “shall” instead.

“You shall excel, you shall secure the prize,”

While further out, the mirage seemed to rise.

The shell grew thick with every passing year,

As adult gravity drew stark and near.

A home to build, a mortgage to sustain,

A larger car to race through driving rain.

Then midlife called, a bridge of heavy grace,

With college plans and aging steps to trace.

I pulled the blankets close to hide the chill,

And watched the soaring spirit find its fill

Where broken limbs could leave the earth behind,

And Avatar horizons filled the mind.

Then seventy arrived with silver hair,

While statin doses mocked the evening air.

And in the quiet of an eighty-year awakening,

I felt the fragile vessel slowly breaking.

A hollow ache, a backward glance of years,

That filled the fading sight with sudden tears:

I wished that I had been a little braver then,

When bones were strong and leaps were long again.

I wished I’d stepped beyond the comfort zone,

To claim the wild expanse, I should have known.

But as the sorrow bloomed, a deeper light

Broke through the cracking shell into the night.

The summit reached was not a distant land,

But everything already held in hand.

It never was the place the road would bend,

It always was the journey, not the end.

The brushstrokes of the burdens and the care

Had built a masterpiece already there.

The "shall" has cracked, the obligations cease,

The faded frame is resting in its peace.

No longer doing what the world decreed,

From every future promise finally freed.

In the End

This is the wisdom of a weathered face,

A sacred truth to pass across the space:

Be braver now, and let your spirit climb,

Dance a little longer in the path of time.

Sing a little louder, let your soul unwind,

Before it all fades in the mystery we leave behind.

Urmi K Doshi