That it’s unrealistic doesn’t make my dream any poorer
FROM time to time, we all want to escape. It can be as simple as closing your eyes and dreaming yourself free. Most of us, however, have a specific sense of place or time to which we are drawn, one that promises hope, calm and rest.
My place is in the hills. While I’m one of the saltwater people, beachbound and with sand permanently between my toes, my myth puts me slightly inland. Among the tall sweep of trees and the birdsong, there’s a smallish kind of town – no more than a few thousand people, and pretty, with undulating hills. Think of something like Bellingen on the NSW mid-north coast, or perhaps you know somewhere else that fits this bill.
In this dream, I would own a small bakery and bistro (because in these dreams, issues like moving the kids’ school or managing a mortgage simply don’t matter).
I can see the counter now. Old World treats with their rustic charm and deepgolden crusts. Fresh local cream whipped to the gentlest of soft peaks and ripe fruit, plucked just that morning from a neighbour’s garden adorning the array of delicious offerings. The customers beam as they sip and sample, it’s a place of genuine and unfiltered joy. The pure distillation of everything I ever set out to do as a chef. In these moments, I can’t see the power bill or the unsolved rostering problems, nor the issues posed by staffing a regional business with an intermittent customer base and seasonality problems. That it’s unrealistic doesn’t make my dream any poorer. Quite the contrary, I love it more because it’s unscuffed.
For it is these dreams that drive us to wander, conquer and live. And since we only get one shot at this little life of ours, shouldn’t you dream just a little too?