Dreams don't go on sale

The Pacific air blew through my hair like whisper as I stared at the Santa Monica Pier from a distance. It’s the same pier my best friends and I spent our New Year’s on when we were seniors in high school. Time has passed faster than the click of a lens. Click, I almost forgot. I hastily grab my camera from my purse and begin taking pictures of the Nomadic Museum. I’m to meet Melissa at one, so I arrived early to take snapshots without feeling intimidated. People think I’m crazy as I walk along the sides of the museum taking pictures of cargo shipping crates. Of plants. Of signs. Anything that captures my eye. Oh, and is there plenty to catch my eye.

The exhibit has the most stunning images by Gregory Colbert and famed architect, Shiguru Ban, designed the traveling museum. I buy tickets for Melissa and me and wait again in the whispering air. We’ve never met before, so I was on the prowl for a woman dressed in a black sweater and jeans—which is pretty much an Angelino uniform in the winter. She passes by me twice before I ask for her identity, laughing sheepishly.

We stand in the glittering sun and talk for a while before seeing the show. I decided immediately that she’s wonderful and I let my guard down. I become my dorky self, asking questions like I’ve just been resurrected from a tomb. I ask too many questions, that’s what everyone always says. So I’ve trained myself to bite my lip when I meet someone for the first time, but with Melissa, the rule was thrown out. This was because she immediately put me at ease. No pretense, just good ole’ fashion conversation.

We walked in spotted silence, splattered with short dialogue about Colbert’s art. Towards the end of the walk-through, we started talking business. Exactly what makes hers work. How she began and how she ended where she is presently. It’s an interesting story, bur nothing groundbreaking. And I mean this in the best possible way because her story made me believe even more so that I can begin my craft sooner than I anticipated.

She kindled a fire inside my soul and I couldn’t wait to discuss my future with JD over dinner.

Over kalmata olives, marinated artichoke hearts, and crumbled feta cheese, we discussed what route would be best for me to pursue. I was secretly hoping that we would make it through the Greek salad before he wanted to know everything about my day. No such luck. So tell me evvvvverything. He asks this the same way evvvvvrytime I do or try something new. He’s fishing through his salad for the artichoke hearts and placing them on my salad. You know I hate anything pickled, he says.

By the time the penne al formaggio is served, he knows about my date with Melissa. He’s chewing audibly and in deep thought when he asks what I want to do. After a long time, I admit that I don’t know. He gets up from the table and starts washing the dishes as I play hockey with the last few penne on my plate.

Should I ask my dad for the money, I ask almost too quietly. We’ve been saving long before we were married for a down payment on our future home, but it's money weren't ever going to touch. The home we intended to buy before marrying in Hawaii. Just as JD was ready to get papers in order to sign for a home months ago, I chickened out and said we should wait. For what, I’m still trying to figure out. He, however, believes that now is the time that we take a step of faith. Money should never be an issue when dreams are concerned and, he says, I've given him another reason to wake up and go to work. To him, my aspirations don't have a pricetag.

That's when the hockey playing stops. I know where I'm supposed to go...and now I have the means of getting there.