No. 178 - The Economics of Chasing a Dream

I dream big.
Too big by most people’s standards.
I only ask “why not” — that’s it. It’s a simple philosophy.

I dream up big things and don’t see a reason not to chase them. And by chase them, I mean take on a maniacal countenance — a myopic state where distractions and naysayers dissipate, deep into the ether, with the rest of the bullshit.

And when the dream becomes an 800-pound gorilla — a horrific beast with bloodshot eyes and cinder-block fists — a ghastly creature that lacks eloquence and is incapable of explaining itself — at that moment when it’s capable of breaking the chains that are trying to strangle it with reason and prudence and pragmatism … that’s when I amplify it into an 8,000-pound nightmare that terrifies me. Right then I know I’m onto something — I know I’ve found a worthy adventure — one that will envelop my subconscious — one that I will obsess over like a dope fiend looking for a fix — something flirting with the impossible. At that moment I feel connected to my Maker, and I take off like a bull in a China shop … ripping apart everyone’s definition of common sense, breaking free of constraints, like a Hells Angel approaching a red light at 130 miles an hour in the darkness of night — an uncompromising mission only I understand — an inevitable bloodbath that’ll take everything it can. That’s how I go to war with an 8,000-pound gorilla of my making.

And like the dog that catches the bumper, I find myself in the ring with the gorilla … at a loss because I can’t believe it’s real. The dream became reality and along with it came enormous confusion — namely a mourning — the realization that the dream is gone. It’s a terrible mind-fuck that leaves you bleeding out on the mat. How can you spend decades dreaming, always questioning if you have what it takes, knowing NO ONE believes in you (outside of a few fellow lunatics — one of whom gave birth to you) … but you keep at it when E V E R Y T H I N G says to do otherwise — and then BAM!!!!!! It’s real. Your jaws are locked on the bumper as the truck takes you for a ride you weren’t prepared for. All the while you’re confused as hell, drunk on euphoria, living in a world that’s a million times bigger than you dreamed … the gorilla, all 8,000 pounds of him, starts to absorb your feelings of inadequacy and shame and humiliation — and he becomes tired like you once were — and you capitalize on it — knowing this is your ONLY shot at knocking this motherfucker out … so you get off the mat and let loose like a Tommy gun: a left hook to his jowls, jabs to his kidneys … you shell out everything you have — and finally — when you’re about to pass out from decades of exhaustion, you deliver the final blow: an uppercut to his chin — dislocating his jaw, rattling his brain. And he falls. He’s down for the count. His eyes roll back and his heart stops. And you finally have your first win — a win that was earned with the very blood, sweat, and tears that the mat below you is saturated with.

That’s what it’s like to dream big and win.