Resolutions Spun of Dreams

"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly." Langston Hughes

The New Year soared in and imposed before we were able to think twice. More to the point, for those of us born with the preceding numbers of ‘19’ in our birth years, it’s difficult at best to understand how we evolved into 2025 so quickly. Yet another year of resolutions made and resolutions to be broken. At least that’s always been the case from my personal perspective. Still, as the theme for this challenge is detailing our prospective resolutions – or dreams – for 2025, I will give it a good go though I must regress a bit to lay foundation and insight for my ramblings - or uh, my New Year resolutions.

I have long been a dreamer as long as I can remember, from the time I was very young. I have, throughout the majority of my life, held fast to two specific dreams, each formed before the young age of ten. My dreams, though dreamed for many long years, have not yet achieved manifestation. Still, as I climbed to the precipice of life’s golden years, my dreams have intensified, much like an ailment that worsens and refuses to abate.

First and foremost, I’ll mark the rudimentary beginning of a dream by noting that during early years, my mother read daily to my sister and I. Since my sister was six years my senior, my mother often read ahead of my age, choosing abridged (and lovely) versions of Shakespeare, Sir Walter Scott, Charles Dickens, and Beatrix Potter, along with stories and poetry from more contemporary writers. In doing so, she instilled in me an incomparable love of books. Such love propelled me much later in college years to a major in English Literature, and though such studies were not honed to a specific profession, they leant invaluable assets to any career path I chose. The result has been, to this day, that I gravitate toward editions of well-worn and beloved books which embody a depth of character far beyond the words inscribed on their pages.

As with many, a love of books led early on to a desire to author one, so I was only seven years old when I wrote my first fairy tale. My story was a gift for my mother, the typical kind of child's story with a princess and white knight on a horse, complete with happy ending. While such a tale may have been attributed to my love of stories, it was more likely because of a longing for something found in a differing realm – or a fantasy. “Fairy tale’ was not a description anyone would have chosen to describe my parents’ marriage or my every day existence. Despite the sometimes dismal situations at home, however, my imagination, encouraged by my mother, managed to thrive and refused to be subdued.

Though my mother kept my handwritten fairy tale for many years, after her death and several moves, it was lost. Still, I have other stories and half-finished manuscripts in my possession; some from childhood, some from adolescence, and others from adulthood. As you may have guessed and as is the case with many writers here on Vocal, my first dream has been the desire to write a book. The hope to write something notable has survived for more than fifty years though it is only now, in later years, I’ve been able to dedicate time to such an endeavor.

Moving along, before I describe my second dream, I'll divulge a bit more about my mother to say she was a lover of all forms of art: literature, poetry, music, painting, sculpture, and she even wrote a few stories herself. At a young age, I was introduced not only to such wonderful literary authors as those noted above, but also to composers like Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and Strauss; poets like Byron, Keats, and Dickinson; and artists like Renoir, DaVinci, and Michelangelo. For me, the love of the arts grew as I grew. Early on, I became infatuated with the genius of Michelangelo and was gifted a book of his art at Christmas; the book's inscription read:

In the spring of 1972, I was about to turn fourteen years old. Amid news of ongoing assassination attempts, Nixon, men on the moon, Olympics, and the Vietnam War, my mother sat reading at the kitchen table. When she gasped aloud, I hurried to her side to see what had elicited such a look of abject horror. Photographs on the pages at which she stared detailed images of a marble Madonna’s delicate features, harshly broken and flawed. Michelangelo’s Pietà, housed in St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome, before being encased beneath protective glass, had been viscously attacked by a man – a lunatic - with a hammer. I was devastated. The Pietà had always been – and still remains – my most favorite piece of art.

Staring at the news my mother read, I was struck with a brutal force by decidedly drastic and contrast things: (1) the unsurpassable emotion and beauty of the sculpture and (2) the horrific, intended destruction of such majestic art. That year began my ongoing love affair with the man, the artist, Michelangelo Buonarotti, and all things his hands had touched upon during the Renaissance, but most emphatically his Pietà, chiseled from one solid piece of white marble when Michelangelo was only twenty-four. In my soul, a determination grew to see the sculpture’s restored beauty in person. Though I didn’t know what a bucket list was at that time, my dream of seeing the Pietà automatically created mine.

I fear I regress a bit when recognizing the beauty of such art. For me, all forms of art embody a truistic and encompassing path to creativity. Though as I stated earlier, I have never been inclined to New Year’s Resolutions as they are far too easily – and more often than not - broken, allow me to expand further for the purpose of this challenge. I have two resolutions which are creative and artistic in nature, and I am fervently hoping to see each reach a climactic end during 2025.

My first dream refuses to die and has now evolved into a New Year's resolution. More than three years ago, I wrote the first half of a novel I have been long been planning and researching. Though I believed its premise was a good one, having grown frustrated attempting to write while working full-time, I stopped my progress on the book two years ago. At that time, I was left to wonder if I’d begun yet another novel that would never be finished.

Backtrack nine months to the start of well-earned retirement. I am now a woman of leisure and relaxation, able to devote more time to things of my choosing. A few months before this New Year, I determined in the year 2025, I would pick up the pen (figuratively) and continue my story. I would make a concerted effort to write at least two to four hours each day, reworking the chapters I’ve already written and adding new ones. My character of Luca Lodovico de Genoble, though not as well-tuned as in the unfinished novel, has already debuted in a few of my Vocal. I believe my tale has depth and dimension and is only awaiting my dedication, determination, and action. Of course, at present, I am purging stored boxes in my basement, so I have placed such action (or resolution) on the burner for another week or two. Again, not one for making ridiculous resolutions, I am determined not to break this one. Mark me for the will is strong though the action remains weak thus far.

My second dream is most likely much more alive and well. After fifty-two years of longing, I have a trip to Rome (and Germany) on the books, with airline tickets already purchased and lodging (only twenty minutes away from St. Peter’s Basilica) secured for September of 2025. After so many years, I am afraid to believe it. Dare I hope to meet the man and art of Michelangelo and so many others while in Rome next September? Mark me again, because I refuse not to dare such.

For many, the dreams I dreamt and dream may seem simple, ordinary, and easily accomplished with little effort, but for me, they are bittersweet reminders of a life lived while not yet achieving what I’ve held dear for many years. As my curtain call steadily (and full steam ahead) approaches, I am reminded this life is only made complete with what ends we ourselves strive toward and meet. If we lose our dreams, we lose our hearts, our souls, and we are often left with an undefined existence, crippled in later years by an abundance of regrets.

Though I feel I’m arriving through a revolving door and rather late to the party, I intend 2025 to be a year well worth remembering in multiple ways and not merely just two dreams at last accomplished. I dare to hope and believe 2025 will be a year with little regret and a beginning of new dreams as well as a completion of old ones. Still, my strongest - and most likely my most important - resolution for 2025 is one I believe we all should hold in our hearts: though I know not when my world will stop spinning, I intend to leave while it's in full swing.

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.” Harriet Tubman