This morning I picked up a new battery for my daughter’s Yamaha Vino scooter. Traveling mechanic — it’s what dads do. Waiting for the battery to arrive allowed for a leisurely stroll around the collected Yamaha, Suzuki and Honda machines and imagine a road life with them:
- A tedium of smooth roads and highways passing by faster than a brain can process with the Goldwing.
- Backaches and hip cramps with the sportbikes.
- The stink of chrome polish with the cruisers.
- Mending bones and physical therapy with the dirtbikes.
And then, glistening like a perfect, wet sand dollar on a remote beach stood the Honda Ruckus. Shiny and black with a simple splash of red, the Ruckus promises uncommon experience to anyone courageous enough to abandon their ego and fear of how they’ll look to other riders.
In my dreams I have a Honda Ruckus. It’s on my list. There are rides in my head.
Dreams are a powerful part of being human yet I hear little from others about their dreams. Lost are the open and excited conversations from childhood where we would proudly exclaim, “I’m going to be a cowboy!” or “I’m going to be a baseball player!”. Somewhere the confidence to express dreams has been smothered by adulthood. Perhaps it lies beneath Henry David Thoreau’s thought that “Men lead lives of quiet desperation”. Perhaps our dreams have been squelched by expectation, fear and the need to conform.
Like any thought entering consciousness they can’t be controlled and should not create anxiety or guilt. They are after all just thoughts. So it is with dreams — just more organized and powerful stories our minds concoct to imagine our experience in life — possible or not. I’ve imagined lives as musician and athlete, artist and writer, rich man and poor. And I’ve imagined life with a motorcycle. Many motorcycles. But there is one that stands out at the moment. A BMW K75.
There is a page saved in Evernote that contains a listing for this motorcycle offered by MAX BMW Motorcycles in Connecticut. I have a dream that one day there will be one in the garage alongside the Ruckus and the Vespa — a riding option for a need I do not know or understand.
Rationalizing dreams leads to the death of youth and the enslavement of adulthood. Or so I think at this precise moment as fingers tap on keys. In ten minutes the thought would be lost lest I write it down. If someone wonders “Why blog?”, perhaps an acceptable answer is to try and remember dreams.
Dreams are medicine and hope rolled together but they’re not universal. My dreams are not yours and sharing them is an act of faith because there are many adults in our midst that strive to bring a dreamer back to reality. I do it myself though I try hard to accept the dreams of others. If I can’t, at least I can try to keep my mouth closed. There is a time for critique and discussion. Just not when dreams are on the table. Husbands and wives, friends and relatives, parents and children — take heed and respect the dreams.
I wonder how life would have been different if I joined the circus…