A Price Must Be Paid...

A price must be paid……

Follow your dreams

“If while pursuing distant dreams

Your bright hopes turn to gray,

Don’t wait for reassuring words

Or hands to lead the way.

For seldom will you find a soul

With dreams the same as yours,

Not often will another help you

Pass through untried doors.

If inner forces urge you

To take a course unknown,

Be ready to go all the way,

Yes, all the way alone.

That’s not to say you shouldn't

Draw lessons from the best;

Just don’t depend on lauding words

To spur you on your quest.

Find confidence within your heart

And let it be your guide.

Strive ever harder toward your dreams

And they won’t be denied.”

-Bruce B. Wilmer (1976)

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This poem has such significance to me because of the way I came about it. During my summer in Chicago, I allowed myself to soak up as much as I could. I saw it as an opportunity to let my dreams grow bigger, gain more substance and become more legit.

I had finally had the time and space to reflect and become more in tune with myself.

I walked everywhere. I was staying in the infamous Hyde Park that oozed nothing but independent creativity. From the constant sight of beautiful Lake Michigan to the extravagant structured mansions that surrounded. I walked past President Obama house on a daily while making my daily rounds, waving at the C.I.A that blocked off the street. They are just as incognito as I imagined. No matter how much I smiled or gracefully past by, I was not given a second glance. For me, that was beyond entertaining. Dedicated indeed.

I pasted so many diversities and what some may call “walking contradictions”. I came across a white woman who had blonde dreads that past her butt and wore Bob Marley shirts on a daily; she rode her bike with as much confidence as a black man pushing a Black Cadillac sitting on 24’s. RESPECT! Our only communication was a smile and nod in the park as I jogged and she cycled. I grew to expect her on nice days; it wouldn’t seem complete had I not.

I also visited the nationally known Northwestern University. The campus was beyond amazing, surrounded by places that catered to all. There were Thai restaurants; a hippie thrift store that catered to the “grass lovers” and made no attempt to disguise it, I bought plenty of their antique beanies.  I loved to stroll about the book store that had universal works: Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, ran by a small quiet Korean man. Only his genuine slight smile would be all the permission I needed to walk about and thumb through his collection as much I liked. His trust in me to not pocket a book or two was refreshing.

I was sitting on a bench outside an antique Chicago apartment complex not even 3 blocks away from the university. I was multitasking between reading and people watching; and made contact with an elder white woman who clearly lived in the building. I smiled, she smiled back.

In short amount of time, I profiled her. She seemed to have such a pedigree about her; maybe it was her sandy blonde hair that had streaks of ice white strands flowing though out. But more intriguing, she seemed to be walking around with a Pandora box of stories untold. How interesting.

Time had passed and I was still sitting, people watching mostly. I found it humorous to see a petite woman jogging next to her giant collie that tried to slow its pace and not overpower her. I admired the “Mr. Moms” who pushed double strollers that were occupied with toddlers and toting stylish diaper bags.

I didn’t even notice that the older woman I had profiled earlier had come out to water the flowers that surrounded the bench I was sitting.

“This heat is death to my loves,” she said in a thick French accent.

The summer I was staying in Chicago happened to be one of the most hottest and deadly Chicago had seen in years, daily the news was reporting heat strokes and deaths due to the extreme heat. But with me being a Southern breed girl, this heat was nothing.

“Your flowers are beautiful, is this all your garden?” I asked. She smiled at my compliment, “It is. I love to bring color to the world.” Her accent was becoming more apparent and intoxicating. She causally sat down next to me, as if she disregarded the fact that I was nothing more than a complete stranger.

“You have the most beautiful face. Your eyes are so sensual.” She said as she studied my face. I was taken aback from the statement but was so flattered that a French lady admired me. I doubt she knew how much my ego had grown.

After thanking her and carrying on casual conversation, I asked the question that had been nagging me. “So, where are you originally from?” “Oh, I am from Paris.” She said it as if saying the sky were blue. She turned her head to me, “And you? Where are you from love?” I wondered if she heard a tad of a southern drawl. “Arkansas.” Her mouth flew open. “You are from Arkansas? I would have never guessed it. You look so exotic.” My ego grew an inch bigger. “Arkansas is so lovely! Oh, the second husband and I took a road trip to see the plantations of New Orleans and passed through the Ozarks. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

I found that amusing. Here was a woman who had clearly seen the world, had more sensual stories than a romantic novel and was doting on the hills of Arkansas.

We talked for more than an hour. I spoke about my love for literature and passion for fashion.  She related that she had no children, never had a desire. I told her about my impromptu decision to spend the summer in Chicago, despite the fact that I had no money and no plans; I just came.

 Candid stories about her love for photography and R&B music made me smile and her sense of humor was beyond attractive. This lady was it! She was someone that belonged in movies, a once in a lifetime encounter. She looked up at the sun as if it she could see the exact time. “Oh, I must go get ready to have drinks with my friends. Hopefully they order my bottle of Chardonnay.” She glanced at me and gave a wink and a smile. I nodded in agreement.

“It was nice talking to you love. You stay fabulous, yes? Don’t let them tear you down. Do not walk away from all you dream. Never.” She gave me a slight peck on the cheek and returned into the building to get into, what I knew would be a beyond fabulous attire. RESPECT! I took that as my cue to head back to my place of stay.

I couldn’t help but think about her parting words and the fact that during our whole conversation, we never once gave our names. She would have found my name quite interesting seeing as how my name is of French origin. A good conversation piece wasted.

 But her statement about me following my dreams was so improvised. I didn’t understand the origin or reason for her saying it. Oh, well.

 I passed the bookstore once more and decided to look at the various things strolled across the front counter. The owner was in the back helping someone find a particular piece of literature. I was looking through something advertised as “Wallet Stuffers”. They were cheap, so I decided to see if there was one that caught my attention. “Follow Your Dreams” not only caught my attention but sent chills throughout me.

Was all this orchestrated to be a pivotal and significant moment of my life? I dare to say: Yes.

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I know that I speak about following dreams and I can understand how it can be annoying---it’s gets annoying to me. Dreams are a double-edged sword, which is why many don’t follow them or even think to dream. The price to pay is far too much.

I sometimes wish I could see the future, just a glimpse, to see if my dreams do come true; if I am doing all that I need to in order to lead to my desired accomplishments because this has to be one of the hardest, toughest and loneliest times of my life. I have never been more discouraged; more looked down, more disappointed. Everything around me is telling me to stop, to quit, give up.

The crazy thing is I can’t. The will is too strong and I guess the more discouraged I feel, the more I must step up. There’s a pattern to it all, I believe.

And like “Ms. Paris” forewarned and Wilmer stated:

“Find confidence within your heart

And let it be your guide.

Strive ever harder toward your dreams

And they won’t be denied.”
Yours Truly,

-@BMynroe

(RaChelle-Denise McKinney)