Dreams and Thorns

 Dreams and Thorns by Cindy Downes (July 24, 2026)

“Your dreams will come true in August.” Thus proclaimed the fortune cookie I opened today at my FLAMS group luncheon. The problem is that I don’t have dreams.

Perhaps life has robbed me of dreams or life challenges has taught me that dreams are fairy tales. I tend to take a more realistic view of life. 

I’m an avid practitioner of the Stoic philosophy which goes along with our other writing prompt, “Accept that you can’t control everything; let go.”

I find that life is easier to manage when I discard ideas of dreams coming true and instead focused on accepting what life brings me and then making the best of it. To help me remember this, I hung four wall plaques in my apartment that contain the following words which I read almost daily:

1.     Accept what is.

2.     Let go of what was.

3.     Have faith in what will be.

4.     Believe in yourself.

These reminders keep me grounded when dreams crash and life exposes the thorns of daily living. Then I say to myself, 

·      “I can only control myself.”

·      “I am not responsible for how others act or think.”

·      “I am only responsible for how I respond to them.”

So, August . . .

No, I don’t have dreams for August. Instead, I choose to live each day as if it were my last. I’m going to enjoy the air I breathe, the people with whom I interact, and the activities which I pursue. 

As the inevitable thorns reach out to prick me, I will continue to push through, carefully; and, come what may, exit on the other side, hopefully, mostly unscathed. 

Do I have goals? Yes, of course I do. But goals to me aren’t dreams. Goals are based on what I believe about myself – what I can accomplish. Not some fantastical dream that is unrealistic.

So, the bottom line is this: I am looking forward to August and to every month after that, fortune cookie or not. 

Grief is strange. Not at all how I imagined it.

For instance, I’ve developed an aversion to going into Houston. I didn’t realize it until a friend suggested we visit a museum downtown. The thought set me into a panic, but I didn’t know why.

In the middle of the night, I woke and realized I can’t go anywhere that connects me to Bill’s memory.

I tried to drive through Houston the other day to reach the north side and visit his memorial site. I went the wrong direction. I hit roadblocks. Someone nearly hit me and it began to rain. It was as if the was universe was saying, “Don’t go there right now.” So, I turned around and came home. 

Grief has paralyzed me from traveling to Houston. 

My cousins wanted to visit me in April – something I’d looked forward to since I moving to Galveston. We began making plans. Then they called to confirm dates before booking travel and I panicked. I couldn’t do it. Why? I’m not sure. It just felt overwhelming. So, I told them not to come. 

Grief has paralyzed me from enjoying company from out of town. 

When Bill first passed, 90% of my income stopped. I was sure I’d end up on the street. I began looking for a job, cutting expenses, and reading everything I could about saving and investing. 

Should I leave my beautiful new apartment?  Stay here and get a job? Start a home business? Maybe I should move somewhere cheaper – off the island or even out of state? 

Now, almost two months later, I see my finances more clearly. I am financially strong. I have less, yes, but it’s more than enough for my needs. There’s no need to panic. I can stay where I am and enjoy a good life.

And yet I woke in the middle of the night worrying about spending too much money on a Sam’s Club order and how I could return it on my way to see Bill. 

Oh, I don’t do that anymore. 

Grief has paralyzed me from thinking logically.

They tell me this will gradually pass, and I believe it will. In the meantime, I have a message that pops up on my phone every day, “Don’t make any decisions.” 

So that’s what I’m doing—making no big decisions. Taking one day at a time. Waiting for my heart to heal. 

That’s what grief is.