Dreamers Are Doers

Hello faeries!

Dreamers are special people, aren’t they? Often artistic, whimsical, sensitive souls dreamers are. They conjure up images of starry skies, flowing skirts, and fairy lights. Don’t they?

Do they conjure up another image as well, one maybe less positive and shadowed by the disdain of others?

Last night, as I finished up “Where The Crawdads Sing” by Delia Owens, I felt a familiar tug on my heartstrings. My inner dreamer had seen a pristine reflection of itself in the main character, Kya. A wild child who was raised by the arms of nature and the shadowy outlines of fearful dreams, I saw myself.

A dreamer.

I am a dreamer through and through. I have a room, set up for reading and daydreaming with DIY thunderclouds twinkling all throughout. Inside said “Dream Room”, there are pillows and chairs, blankets and books, a fake tree and a Christmas tree. Candles. Incense. A well-loved yoga mat.

Entering the room tickles the back caverns of my mind, urges me to let the events of the day stay at the doorstep, to shed my coat and step into a robe of sparkling lights and wonder.

My dream room is my sanctuary. It is a place where I can freely dream.

I can’t reach into your brains, my faeries and dreamers, and understand if you have felt this way, but until I turned 18, dreamer was a special word.

I had no shame toting the word around. There was nothing wrong with it, in fact, it was a point of pride to be a dreamer like me. I was envied for it. Once even told that my ability to dream would be my lucky shot in the big, bad world of writing and editing.

As the confetti of graduation landed, however, something very strange happened.

I was shunned for being a dreamer.

To clarify, I was not shunned for dreaming but for being a dreamer. There was such a petty difference drawn between having a dream and being a dream. Having an unchanging dream you might accomplish someday through luck and seat-of-your-pants magic or might never see to fruition was celebrated while keeping your heads in the clouds, having a vague idea of where your heart wanted to take you, and working towards that was shunned.

In the following seven years after I graduated high school, I thought long and hard about dreaming.

Why did there have to be a collective anger towards being a dreamer? Why did I have to hide the stars twinkling in my eyes? Why did I have to say I have a dream… instead of I’m a dreamer…?

Quietly, in the middle of books I was reading and books I was writing, I acknowledged to myself that I am a dreamer. I whispered to myself through my actions that being a dreamer isn’t dirty after all. Besides, the difference between a dreamer and someone who ambitious is a job title.


Last night, as I closed the cover of the book, I realized how hidden this “dirty dreamer” idea is.

Dreamers are lazy. Dreamers have their heads in the clouds. Dreamers aren’t responsible. Dreamers are just silly hippies. Dreamers aren’t logical, their goals are bad. Dreamers should be more realistic.

Let’s try this on for size:

Dreamers are doers.

Fairy Tale Poet

I am a dreamer. I have a wild appreciation of this world and I find my head is often in the clouds every spare moment I receive from my life.

Those dreams aren’t just for fun though. They are integral parts of who I am and have been. Some may change. Some I may abandon in the hunt of another. Still, some stick to my ribs and I cannot shake them no matter how ludicrous they seem to others.

Those are the ones that support this quote.

I am like other dreamers. I have dreams that motivate me to work harder than any show of status, wealth, or love could ever hope to inspire. There is a fire inside of my soul and my brain that forces me to work harder today than I did yesterday.

I am a doer. I work incredibly hard in every aspect of my life so that my dream can one day live around me, hug me in its tender arms. “Good enough” can not satisfy a dreamer like me.

If I have a one million mile journey ahead of me, I cannot take a step a day. I cannot settle to sit on my heels and watch the world move by me. I have to be one of the whizzing lights flying overhead. I have to be a shooting star.

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