Dreams and Dust

Many years ago, as a young man, I wanted something.

OK, just like any young fella, I wanted many things, but I had a direction, a goal. A chosen occupation, a pathway.

That chosen path sort of flew in the face of much of who I was at the time. I was in a band, the drummer no less. A pot smoking, booze drinking, mind altering substance swallowing, seemingly dysfunctional member of society. If you view musicians as non contributors.
As it stood, I had a job. A series of them, concurrent with being the so called musician. Real jobs, 9-5 type things, full time, gainful employment. Well, someone had to. It all added up to me being the only one in the band with a car, one of only two with a licence and certainly one of the few around the scene with the fiscal ability to put any petrol in the tank.
Cool. A means to an end, that was the premise behind me driving trucks, the drive which saw me on process lines. Never my future, simply an answer to the questions, the needs, of the here and now. Back then, I made a conscious decision to allow myself a couple of years or so, to follow some signs of potential, to chase a dream. No matter the unlikelihood, no matter the unreality.
The thing about following that type of dream, is not only the uncertainties, not the self doubt and the fear and the risk of ridicule or unfulfillment. It is knowing, recognizing and acknowledging it as just that. A dream. No matter how far fetched, how out there, no matter how close at hand. A dream is just that. I like to think I saw, at a relatively young age, the best way to maybe reach those lofty goals and aspirations, to grab a hold of the dream, was to tick off the day to day in the process.
Another thing, was to not limit the number of dreams.

Playing drums, being the guy who hit things while sitting in a room with a bunch of genuine musicians, was one thing. I met cool people and did cool things and I enjoyed, mostly, every minute of it. The dream turned to nothing but, in the back of my mind at least, I knew it never would.
Does that mean I was ever really, truly, dreaming? Maybe not, but it was worth the shot and I learned a lot about myself and those around me, about my own capabilities, about my frailties and yes, some harsh realities of the world.

Truth is, up until then and even through that time, I wanted to be a cop. A Police Officer. Without divulging details, boring my limited readership with details of my woo-begotten youthful folly, I blew my dream wide open. All my own fault. Suck it up and move on, forced to leave a dream behind. About the same time, the music thing folded too. Not my fault this time, if fault is ever a cause in such things. People simply got up and went their separate ways.

So guess what? I at least left the process lines behind, though I stayed behind the wheel. I drove trucks, then vans and finally drove spades and shovels into the ground. Music became something which came into me, no longer out of me. Did I miss it? Yes? Did that bother me? No. It was enough to know I gave it a shot, even if a brief and limited one. It is more than enough to know I can, that I have some sort of creative flair in me and have the ability to express it. As for being a cop?

Turns out, that opportunity, the dream, was not fully denied me. So I thought at least.
What the motivation is, or was, to be a Police Officer, I am not so sure anymore. When I was young, I could and did rattle of an entire, lengthy agenda, which had even my closest of mates nodding and smiling along, having long since given up trying to follow what I was on about. All virtuous and sincere I can assure you, reasons beyond reproach.
Much of that sentiment exists till this day, but now, as an older, pragmatic and family man, there is no denying the wage and benefits are a factor, particularly for an essentially unskilled middle aged man.
Like everything, the Police force and their policies change and adapt, including their requirements and restrictions for application. Finding this out, I did just that…I applied. Maybe, just maybe, the dream was still alive.

It was and I guess, hopefully, maybe, still is. But as the saying goes, my mind is willing…
Yes, as you might well have concluded, my body let me down. Namely my knees. But, more so, it turns out my body may well have let me down many years ago.
In a season of madness, I popped up in the front row of a Colts grade rugby team at club level in Dunedin. I came up against an ogre of a bloke, all brawn and no skill. I thought I might show him a thing or two. I failed to and he showed me the turf. All at the expense of my neck.
No drama, it healed and life went on. Yes, I feel for Sam Cane right now and the ordeal the All Black open-side is going through. I can only hope he gets all the right care and advice. He will, because of who is and what he does. For me, it wasn’t until some years later I realized the potential full extent of my injury.
As far as I was aware I was fine. I had moved on and had done, was doing, all the things a full bodied, healthy young man did at the time. I was working, playing sport, partying and recreationing and all the rest of it.
Then, I encountered an Occupational Nurse.

Part of an interview process. She accessed my medical records. I had a neck injury.
‘Sorry, even if you do pass the urine test the next time around, there is no job for you here.’
To say I was a little stunned and a whole lot confused, would be putting it mildly. However, at the time, I gave it little thought. I was only interviewing because the job offered more money and as money has never been the main focus in my life, I gave the whole situation little credence. Tomorrow was a new day. She, this Occupational Nurse, told me the neck thing would come back to haunt me.
She was right.

The Police recruitment medicos, in all their wisdom, feel the same. Not a blanket no, but a whole heap of hoops to jump through I am not sure I can, or will even try. The writing, it would seem, is well and truly on the wall.
So a dream gone. Again. Possibly, never say never and all that.
Many people might think right there is a reason or two to get down, feel despondent and sure enough, I had brief moment there where I felt fairly bleak. It is frustrating, knowing I can, being told I can’t. I’ll keep plugging away but there doesn’t seem much hope. Not, however, I will ever entirely give up hope.

Dreaming-of-Sheep-500x500

All and all I guess I am left wondering. Wondering if dreams are really that, or are there other labels which can smeared about; aspirations, goals, desires. I wonder if people who claim to have obtained their dreams are simply achievers, people who through hard work and dedication and plain dumb luck, have gotten what it was they originally set out after?
Or have they, like the majority of us I suspect, changed and adapted and altered those dreams and goals and aspirations as life has dictated? Only then, when all is said and done, have they looked up and thought ‘You know, just maybe, this was the goal all along’.

I’ll keep on dreaming.
Even while I am living my dream.

 

 

 

 

 

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