Okay, so I'm going to own an Elephant Sanctuary, with at least 15 rescued elephants in it from circuses and/or bad zoos.

I'm going to live in a big house. My bedroom is going to be forest-themed. My bathroom is going to be ocean-themed. My kitchen is going to be autumn-themed. My living room, winter-themed. On the very top floor is going to be a small attic, where I write best-selling books.

I'm going to be married and have two daughters.

I'm going to have cats, not dogs, so they don't scare the elephants.

Did I mention that I am going to be an author?

Hopefully I can live by a mountain, so I can ski a lot...

I'm going to travel to distant countries a bunch before I get the elephant sanctuary.

Well, there's my impossible dream. Enjoy laughing over it.

I dream their will be understanding of especially mental illness and the elderly. I see the abandoned mentally ill and Alzheimer's diseased being left in emergency rooms abandoned by their loved ones or families. They then get put in a mental health unit where some will live out their life , some will be put in temporary shelter then streeted only to return to the hospital. No place in our society for these special people..yes I say special because there was a before..the dementia/Alzheimer's were once a productive contributing part of society and our mentally ill can still be productive..Some are brilliant and talented..if only you knew. But alas the circle continues with a stopping place in what some may say a Psycho unit.. My simple dream..Living arrangements with speciality help for all..A dream that will stay...A dream...

Do I have one?

Pacing these floors

wanting more

but not sure what it is.

Do I want to be successful?

Not at the upmost importance.

Do I want to be famous?

Perhaps at one time I did but now I'd rather sit back and be happy.

I'm not really sure what my dream is. Honestly I just want to do what I love and be with those I love without feeling fear or embarrassment. Without feeling like no one wants me or cares.

I think my dream is to achieve simplicity without loosing too much.

Absurd and impossible, isn't it?

I want to understand our universe. I want to know what's happening at a quantum level. I want to know complicated equations which explain string theory. I want to know what all in the cosmos I'm missing out on. I want to know what Earth was like as an infant. I want to know how evolution happened. I want to know the history of humans. I want to know how languages work. I want to know why our lives are the way they are. I want to know art. I want to know what makes us humans connected to each other. I want to know the stories of the trillions of people that have lived and are living and will live. I want to know why love is so powerful. I want to know the world's religions. I want to know all that I can.

How can a person have just one dream? I picture an Italian nonna, apron on, bowl in hand, shuffling through the Great Hall of my mind, stealing poignant parts from a million ideas to throw into her greedy sausage machine, in the effort to produce the perfect dream. Dicing up my vacation to the ruins of Machu Picchu. Grinding the Costa Rican treehouse community I long to one day reside in. Compressing into mush my nomadic retirement plan of selling everything, simplifying and living aboard a boat. These and a thousand more, mingled and ground to nothing. Forced to the point of suffocation into a pig's intestine, in an attempt to turn my many passionate dreams into one, delectable, condensed piece of succulence.

No, I have far too many dreams to type into a quick paragraph of Prose. I'll keep my dreams, thank you. You can keep your sausage.

"You should have your own show!" "You belong be on stage!"

I've been hearing those words for my entire life, and they put some big dreams in my head from a very young age. For a time, I pursued them. My college degree is in the performing arts, against my parents wishes ("Nine out of 10 actors are unemployed! Computer science is what you should be pursuing."). I've done some community theater (knocked 'em dead in Albany, Troy and Schenectady). Then after graduation, I moved to Manhattan, hoping to take Broadway by storm (along with about a zillion other people who should also have their own shows and belong on stage).

Not being a member of any actors' unions, I was only eligible to audition at "open" casting calls - generally community theater-type productions. When I'd tried out for plays in my hometown, there'd barely be enough actors to take all the roles. But in New York, there'd be me and the other aforementioned zillion talented hopefuls. Every one of us thinking, "This will be my big break! I just know a powerful casting director will wander into this Park Slope church and see me crush it as SECOND NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR." The smallest audition would turn into Cutthroat Island. Don't get me wrong; I'm competitive by nature, but I didn't have the stomach to get really down and dirty, to sabotage the competition, or to cozy up to the director. I just wanted to perform...on stage!

And I would never be offered the leads anyway, because of my "look." I heard this over and over, "Before you start reading, you should know you're just not the look we're going for. But thanks for coming in." Petite but curvy. Dark brown eyes and hair. Olive complexion. This all added up to "too exotic." Only lanky, blue-eyed blonds need apply. However, I used this to my advantage because the hookers and maids (the only parts I'd get) usually had some of the best lines in the whole damn show.

To make ends meet, I took an entry level position at a firm on Wall Street, because waitressing was nothing I'd be good at. That's when my dream started getting buried. Within two years, I'd advanced to an executive position and travelled all over the United States. Then came the international travel. It was exciting and challenging, but most of all, I felt valued for talents I didn't know I had - business talents. Nobody was dismissing me because of my looks. I was earning respect...and money...and bonuses...and retirement plans...and health insurance... It certainly beat cooling my jets in a church basement for three hours, only to be told I'm too short to play Lady MacBeth.

That was a long time ago, and I never looked back. Then something surprising happened. Last summer, right in the middle of CVS, the cover of a magazine made me cry. No, it didn't depict some tragic world event or a glorious sunset. Rather, it was the photo of an up-and-coming ingénue. SHE never gave up. SHE didn't sell out. SHE stuck to it and now SHE had the career that was supposed to be MINE! I was struck by my reaction. Even though I'd thought I was over it, clearly I was not. And let's get real, I was still holding onto a few of my old black and white headshots (See Exhibit A at the top of the page).

But here's the kicker: I was tagged for this challenge the day an ad turned up in my email. It was an ad for six weeks of acting classes. The power of the universe is a funny thing, isn't it? So, I bought them and for six weeks, I'll revisit my dream. I guess it's never too late. Maybe I'll get my own show or wind up on stage.