for those who dream

“I want to go to Harvard to be a hairdresser.”

Quite the aspiration for a seven year old girl living on Long Island…

But really, it wasn’t.

Why?

Because, I’ve always been a dreamer.

For a short while, I dreamed of being a hairdresser. Before that, I dreamed of marrying Ryan Moran, the love of my life from Kindergarten. Shortly after, I dreamed of marrying Patrick Swayze as I kissed his face on the oversized television screen in my parent’s bedroom on Richmond Avenue in Medford, NY.

And when I decided it was time to move on from bad boy Johnny Castle, I fell in love with the boy on our refrigerator instead. In the Christmas card from my parents’ grammar school friend, Roseann, he wore a blue and yellow football uniform, had a thick head of brown hair and a round face, bent down on one knee, holding a football in his hands with his helmet perched on the grass in front of him.

Eventually, if you can believe it, the football player on the refrigerator turned out to be my future husband.

Before that could happen though, I enjoyed (suffered through?) a roller coaster ride of “loves of my life” until I found him again.

Some stand-outs include: Ricky from the Mickey Mouse Club, Keanu Reeves in the movie Speed, a variety of mushroom-cut boys ranging from sixth grade to high school who shall remain nameless for their safety and my own, Chuck Knoblauch from the Yankees (only because I didn’t want to have to share Derek Jeter with my sister), Justin Timberlake from *NSYNC (affectionately referred to as Justin Timberwolf by my dad to this very day), and Vin Diesel.

Quite a list if I do say so myself.

Throughout all of this time, I dreamed of getting married one day. Who would my husband be? Where would we live? How many kids would we have?

I’ve always created scenarios in my head, both the good and bad kind.

If I was home alone, someone was surely waiting to murder me from the depths of the dark dining room as I rounded the corner and ran up the stairs to my room.

If my mom didn’t answer the phone when I called, she must be lying unconscious somewhere.

If my crush smiled at me in the hallway at school he was obviously deeply in love with me.

All of which makes it easy to understand how I became an author although psychological thriller seems like it could have taken precedence over romance. Thankfully for Mia and Gennaro though, it didn’t.

I’ve always wanted to write a book. Like, I’m talking, back when I first knew how to construct a sentence, I wanted to write books. Elaborate story telling combined with an overactive imagination allowed me the ability to turn anything into a fictional scenario in my head or on paper. Add to that the summer program at our local library with Pizza Hut incentivized reading, and I was destined to become an author, since everything is better with pizza.

Right? Right.

As life typically goes though, the pathway to get here has been anything but linear. 

Much like my rap sheet of love interests, the jobs I’ve worked span a great array of industries with a dollop of ADHD.

Ahem; retired from babysitting at the ripe age of thirteen, became an Old Navy sales associate shortly after, a server at the Old Mill Tavern and Applebee’s, and attended bartending school where I graduated at the top of my class (my designation, not theirs). Interestingly enough, no one wanted to hire me without actual bartending experience, but like, how did they expect me to get experience without ever hiring me? Quite a conundrum, so I moved on.

I graduated with a degree in Hotel, Restaurant & Institutional Management and swore I’d own a night club one day, but swiftly got over that when I realized I wasn’t all about evenings and weekends and could possibly have a family one day. So, instead, I began event planning right out of college. From there; small business marketing, hospital reception, a glorified personal assistant at a financial firm, a little bit of everything you can think of at a weight loss camp for kids, and on to freelance digital marketing.

I was the person who was “good” at lots of things, while lacking any one focus as to what I truly wanted to do with my life. So, while my best friends landed their dream jobs from finance, to law, to medicine, I was left scratching my head with the smallest of paychecks and a lack of true passion running through my veins. 

But, I carried on, as I usually do.

I enjoyed traveling during my event planning career, and met a few people along the way who, you guessed it, I dreamed of being in a relationship with.

Now seems a good time to mention that even though I grew up in love with love, the boys never quite returned the favor. I was friends with all of them, and they’d usually confess their feelings for my smaller, blonder best friends and acquaintances.

A lifetime of that would eventually have me hedging personal bets as to whether I’d become a lesbian or live alone with a lot of cats. Since I am far more attracted to Gennaro than I am to Mia, and because I absolutely despise cats, I will forever remain grateful to Filomena Bellettieri for allowing the boy in the football uniform on my refrigerator to make many of my dreams come true.

Mine and Jay’s love story is a dash of insta-love, age gap, and friend of the family tropes, mixed with fifteen plus years of deep love, nonstop learning, incredible struggles, and undeniable fortitude. It’s another story, for another day, but serves as a testament to those of us who dream.

Dreamers are those who are relentless in their thoughts and desires. There is no such thing as impractical so long as we believe it to be true. And, perhaps most importantly, we cannot thrive around those who try to dim the light that fuels the very dreams that make us feel alive.

If we can think it, we aim to achieve it, or…we’ll spend a lifetime trying to figure it all out.

I once dreamed that I’d end up married to Johnny Castle.

But, the cute football player on my refrigerator stole my heart instead.

I once dreamed that I’d go to Harvard to be a hairdresser.

But, thankfully, I’ve found where I actually belong.

My path was not a traditional one, but it has solidified the most valuable lesson of all.

If I can dream it, I can achieve it.

And, you can too.

Thanks for being a part of my story…the ones in real life, the ones I dream about, and the ones I write about.

These stories heal my soul and I hope they fill yours just the same.