The First Dream That Comes To Mind

There's this saying I hear sometimes, that one decision can change your life. Sometimes you're forced into it, or it's a decision you ruminate about. Other times, it's a cocktail of circumstance.

I had just packed my boxes, emptying out my art studio. I stuck it out until my lease ended, barely scraping by the rent. I had nowhere to put these items now, except fit them in my car-- or cram them into an apartment I shared with roommates.

While accepting this, I decided on an activity to cheer myself up. I signed up for a meeting, this one advertised "for dreamers." "Come discuss lofty goals with like-minded individuals!" it blared out. "Free snacks, non-judgmental setting."

Lofty- that seemed relatable! My dreams abandoned me, but I didn't want to close the door on them. I closed up my trunk and got ready.

I arrived late afternoon, three floors up a building in the city. I waited alone as I usually do, people-watching. The lack of a relationship in my life kept me well acquainted with this general sense of lurking. The moderator hosting us, Michaela, introduced herself. The seats were in a circle for the sixteen of us. Each person a point on the circumference of this discussion of dreams.

"I hope you all have your ideas ready to fire out into the universe." Michaela's optimism was infectious, I'll give her that.

She held up a little black notebook in her hand and looked at each of us, slyly, before she continued.

"I'm going to pass this around. No need to write your names, this isn't a sign in sheet. What I want you to do, is write the first dream that comes to mind. Something that you want to accomplish."

Some of us looked at each other, blank stares and smiles. A book of dreams. "It can be anything. Think about what this dream means to YOU. It doesn't have to make sense to anyone else."

Before she gave the notebook to the first participant, I had a flood of thoughts. The first dream? I can't pinpoint it. I wanted to keep creating art in a world where doing so requires time and money, things you can't have simultaneously. I wanted to keep my art studio, but that was out. I wanted to leave my apartment, leave my job, and to stop pouring my energy into a thankless system. I wanted to feel again. I wanted someone to hold me. I wanted to look at the stars, which were sometimes my only consolation during this quarter life crisis I found myself in.

The stars.

There was a trip I couldn't afford to go on, but it offered a plethora of stars. Salar de Uyuni, the largest salt flats on earth. During rainy season, a section of Bolivia would become a mirror, your body in the center of the horizon. The sunset reflected beneath you, a miracle of art in nature. Isolated, with only the colors of the sky around you, below you.

This was my dream.

As Michaela passed the notebook, I smiled to myself, even if I'd never see these salt flats in my lifetime.

Six people wrote their dreams before me-- I was number 7. I grabbed the pen and wrote. "My dream is to visit Salar de Uyuni during sunset." And just like that, I passed it on too.

We had a break for refreshments. I stood by, considering this snack setup to be a free dinner for today. One of the guys from the group came along.

"Excuse me, hi," he said, his sweater tucked gently in his jeans. "I have to ask, are you the one who wrote about Salar de Uyuni?"

I looked blankly at him for a moment, about to answer in the affirmative, but still adjusting to the fact that someone spoke to me. I've been a little lonely as of late.

"I am! How'd you know?"

He laughed. "Don't mind me. I noticed it was the 7th dream listed in the book, and you were the 7th person to write." He smiled. "The reason I ask is because, that's actually my dream too."

"No way. Small world."

"Absolutely," he said. "I'd love to know more about how you came about that, if that's okay! I don't talk about the flats too often. I'm assuming you've never been there before? Or have you?"

A cascade of questions followed-- where we work and how we found out abut this meeting. We were called back, asked by Michaela to sit in the same spot as before. The rest was blurry, as I sometimes glanced at Emanuel. It's been a long time since I've embraced coincidences, or trusted anyone, or even felt alive. When Emanuel asked me afterwards if I wanted to grab a bite to eat with him, I accepted. He said there was a cool spot down the street that he's been to. I wanted to know more.

It was moderately crowded, though a dimly lit and intimate place. A sparkly mix on the menu-- tacos, pakoras, and other small bites. An assortment of teas. I started out with butterfly pea flower.

"This is a striking azure," I pointed out to him, the color of the tea never ceasing to amaze me. "I imagine this color to be in the sky, if I were to visit Salar de Uyuni. And a splattering of white stars mapping out an overlay on top."

"Spoken like a true artist."

"It's my dream to paint it." I paused. "Another dream! I should've written that in the notebook. I have many dreams I guess."

"I think that's something to admire," he said. "Think about it. There's so much that has made people give up on their dreams. If you could hold on to them, and maybe even make them happen one day, then I think that's worthwhile."

"What else do you dream about?"

"I'm from New Mexico," he said. "Near the White Sands. You'd probably love it there, if I'm right about your love of stargazing. I'd consider going back one day and starting my own company."

We continued a waterfall of topics. I was honest, mentioning that I'd fallen on hard times this year. He was funny, and one of the few people I've met who was realistic and not yet jaded-- a confident optimism. He also reminded me of trips I'd been on in the past. I met people abroad who I still spoke to and considered friends. We didn't go to the same school or work together, and yet we had strong bonds over our love of discovery. I saw Emanuel possibly fitting this profile. People were nearby on all sides of our little table, and yet I paid no attention to them. No people watching now. Only him.

"I hope you'd consider a second date of ours to be in Bolivia," he said, laughing over his drinks. We were well into several hours at this place, and soon enough, the employees were going to stare at us. "Actually, let me backtrack-- I hope this is our first date?"

"It is," I smiled.

"Good. Because I'll plan better for the next one." He held up his glass. Cheers.

"I'll have to interrupt, if you'll excuse me." An older man at the next table interjected towards us. He was close enough, didn't have to stand up. Graying hair, a black suit jacket. He was sitting with two others. "I heard you both talking, the young lady was speaking about Bolivia."

"We were, yes," said Emanuel. "Have you been there?"

"No. But you are an artist, correct?" He pointed at me.

"Yes."

"Great. I'd like to talk to you about something, if that's alright with you. You can visit my office, I work two blocks from here." He pulled out a business card. "Please do consider this, I'd like to discuss a possible project. You reminded me of my daughter."

I nodded. I wasn't sure what to make of this, but I was always open to hearing someone wanting to commission my work. Oftentimes things fall through, but I was no stranger to hearing the interest. People love artwork, even though there can be disagreements in budget and vision. Sometimes, they simply want it for free and don't want to pay for it.

"I'll be there tomorrow, just give my office a call in case I'm in a meeting. If you can't, plese consider this week. Bring me a couple of sketchbooks to see your work. What is your name?"

"Melanie."

"Wonderful to meet you."

With that, Mr. Vera, as was written on his card, headed out for the night.

Emanuel asked me if I was going to go, he also not sure what to make of it. We hugged goodbye.

I thought a lot about the invitation the next morning-- I had the day off, so maybe that was a sign. If Mr. Vera and I couldn't agree, what did I have to lose by trying? In the spirit of things from yesterday, I met Emanuel because of a random meeting assembled for dreamers. Why not meet with Mr. Vera today, too?

After confirming with his office that I'd be arriving, I made my way over. The reception area was crisp and sleek. An architectural firm.

He arrived. "I'm happy you decided to come. Here, this way."

We sat in his office and exchanged pleasantries, before he showed me pictures of his firm's projects. Buildings not just in this city, but spanning continents worldwide. He complimented my sketchbook, asked me what kinds of paint I use. He asked about my family and where they came from. Mr. Vera was a child of immigrants who built his business, something he called his wildest dream. Pointing at the skyline, he said he jotted his ideas for buildings in a small notebook as a child in Argentina.

Affable, Mr. Vera folded his hands and approached the reason for the visit. He hesitated, but not for long.

"My daughter wanted to go to Salar de Uyuni." He grabbed one of the photo frames on his desk, and showed me the girl, smiling. "As you know I heard you and your friend talking about this place. My daughter was 26 when she died. She always wanted to go there. She visited other places, but she never made it there."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. She was like you, she loved the sunset. Her mother does too." He smiled.

He pulled out a couple of things from a drawer in his desk and grabbed a pen. One of those things was, strangely, a checkbook.

"What is your last name, Melanie?"

I answered, sort of quietly. To be honest, I was almost going to cry. He was writing me a check, but I wasn't sure what it was for or if it was something I'd get after completing a job for him. Seconds later, he signs it, detaches it, and hands it to me.

$20,000.

"I want you to have this."

Bewildered, I asked what it was for.

"Use it however you need to." Did he hear me last night, telling Emanuel about my art studio?

"Most importantly, I would like for you to visit Salar de Uyuni. Perhaps even take your friend. The most important thing," he continued, "is that you try to go. If you find it beautiful, if you find that beauty there in your heart, paint me a painting of what you saw there when you return. You don't have to, but if you do, I'll place it here in this office, in memory of Avila."

Understanding that this check was indeed for me, I thanked him and promised him I'd go, letting out tears. It was strange, almost feeling like I didn't deserve it. But in the spirit of things, I was allowing this happen, just like I allowed yesterday to happen.

One decision can change everything, after all.