Dreams of Gold

When I was little, I used to watch the Olympics with great anticipation. 
Not every event, of course.
No, for me the Olympics was about two things: gymnastics and figure skating.
You could keep everything else, as far as I was concerned.
Those two events held a special place in my child-sized heart, keeping me glued to the television whenever I was near one that was broadcasting them.
No matter that we didn't own a television in my house that had access to anything other than the VCR. We had no cable and therefore, no reception for anything other than snow. And not placid white snow. I'm talking the kind of snow that used to happen when the world of technology was confined to analog TV, a frustrating site accompanied by an explosion of sound that is nearly impossible to describe, other than...explosive. Like a rocket taking off. A strange sort of white noise, I suppose.
Still, somehow, someway, I nurtured an obsession for figure skating and gymnastics through those occasions when I was able to view the Games at a friend's house.
I would watch as triple axes and sow-cows were executed with ease and grace, holding my breath until blade met ice in perfect delivery.
I would marvel at the speed and agility of the girls who tumbled and flipped and bounced through the air as they completed routines that had taken them years to perfect. 
I wanted to be them, to do what they did, the way that they did it. 
I wanted their poise and their strength.
To me, it was utterly inspiring.
And so I dreamed I was a gymnast as I cartwheeled in my backyard or balanced myself on two-by-fours stacked together along the flower beds. My imagination turned the smooth concrete floor of my garage into my personal rink, and I became a queen of the ice as I smoothy swiftly skated circles on my roller-skates, loudly blaring Celine Dion and Mariah Carey.
I dared to dream, in the way that only a child can.
I miss that dreamer sometimes.
Where did she go, and what made her leave?
Was it the natural progression of time and the realization that dreams don't always work out?
Was it that I grew up and abandoned dreams like those, replacing them with dreams that seemed more attainable?
Where do the dreamers we once were go? 
What are we so afraid of?
As the Olympics play out, take inspiration from them. Let them remind you that you were created by a dreamer––and that you were made to dream.
Dream big. 
Go for the gold.