Building A Dream

We never know where our best teachers in life will come from. We don’t know who they are, when or how they will appear, but as Chinese philosopher and master Lao Tzu said, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”

Such was the case when I first started writing professionally. I had just graduated at the top of my class from the autodidactic school of journalism. I was about to become a member of what is known as The Fourth Estate.

I always knew that I wanted to be a writer and I couldn’t wait to let my words spill onto glossy white paper, spiffily dressed in fancy font by an editor.

My first writing gig was for a publication - for singles. I had seen an advertisement through a job service that read, “Looking For Love.” Intrigued by the title, I inquired further.

Since it was a new magazine just forming, they were looking to hire freelancers who could write articles geared for people who were looking for relationships.

They needed a sample of my work. Since I had a limited amount of articles that I thought were appropriate, I decided to send the only one I had on relationships, ‘The Ultimate Relationship.’

A week had passed when I got a phone call from the publisher, Steve. He liked my article and he wanted to set up an interview. I was excited. He liked my work. He said it was the best submission he received.

As I hung up the phone, I immediately thought, “What if he doesn’t like me? What if I don’t answer the questions the right way? What if someone better comes in?”

Then a reassuring voice from the ethers said, “Relax, he’s going to love you. Go in there and be yourself.”

He hadn’t set up his office yet, so the interview was held at his home. It was a stunning Mediterranean style home at the end of a cul-de-sac. I got there early and just stared at the house before I caught a glimpse of a tall man coming towards me.

I didn’t know if he thought I was a stalker or just lost. As he approached the car, I pretended to be reading a map book that I kept on the front seat before GPS’s were all the rage.

He leaned down and knocked on my car window. As I rolled the window down, he said, “Are you Alexys?” Before I could answer, he said, “I’m Steve. You’re early.”

“Yes, I am always early,” I said.

As he opened the car door for me, I emerged. “How did you know it was me,” I asked. “I just knew,” he replied. “Besides, not too many people come down this road,” he added.

He opened the door to a magnificent two-story entrance that revealed a mahogany staircase. I was led to the living room that was sparsely furnished with a couch and two metal chairs.

He had just moved in and his furniture had not arrived yet. Although, it looked a bit sketchy and I was young woman alone with a stranger, I trusted that the voice from the ethers led me to the right place.

He offered me a cold drink and motioned for me to sit down on the metal chair facing him. He asked me about myself. I told him some brief tidbits before I volleyed the question back to him.

There was something about Steve that was very comforting. I felt that I could tell him anything. He had a warm smile that made its way into my heart and the kind of movie star looks that could make any women swoon. His long brown hair and smiling brown eyes accented his clean shaven face perfectly.

It was hard to believe that Steve was a former tractor salesman from Phoenix, Arizona and not a model or actor trying his luck in Hollywood. He came to California like so many before him, armed with a dream and a desire to make a difference.

He used his savings and a small loan from his parents to nurture his dream. I was only 23 and he was not much older at 30. He didn’t know anyone in the publishing industry and he didn’t know anyone who knew anyone in the industry. He listened to his voice and followed it.

Being a single man himself, he saw a need for singles to be addressed in a large arena - a publication that catered to them, cared about them and heard them. He would create a niche to serve them.

He needed someone to see his vision, someone who could help nurture his dream, someone to share his dream. That person was me.

At 23, I had to write about relationships. I, who at 23 was still learning about relationships. I was thrust into a world that I could only imagine and that is what I did - wrote as I imagined.

I imagined how it felt to have a wonderful relationship. I imagined how it felt to have a bad relationship. I wrote about relationships in a way I had not experienced them, but in ways I knew others had.

Though I was reticent in my own life, on the page I was alive. I had a plethora of self-help books under my wing and common sense. I observed good relationships and I observed bad ones.

I saw my grandparents still hold hands after 50 years of marriage and look into each other’s eyes as if it were for the first time. I saw my sister suffer a middle ear infection because her abusive boyfriend smacked her in the head one day in a fit of anger.

I saw a single father fight the court system to win custody of his daughter when the system was against fathers. I saw lonely people looking for love in bars and classified ads, hoping not to spend another night alone.

Steve and I were more than employer and employee, we were a business team. I was not romantically involved with him (because I know you’re all wondering), but we had a great relationship. We worked together for five years and I think his publication made an impact on singles all over the country.

He would never take a personal call at work. When his women friends would call, I was instructed to kindly tell him that he would call them back after work.

Steve was a happy person and always had a pleasant word to say. One morning after a long night at the printers, he looked heartbroken. The inevitable had occurred - he was running out of money.

His advertisers were lured to a bigger magazine - the competition. Along with that, one of Steve’s top salesmen stole Steve’s checks and cleaned out his business bank account.

Even though he was running out of cash, he made sure that I got paid from his personal account. A gesture that to this day still touches me.

I was not only a part of his publication, but a part of his dream. We understood this of each other. We needed each other to fulfill our own dreams. I watched him build it. I watched him nurture it. Sadly I watched him sell it.

Steve saddled up his horse and went back to Arizona. He didn't go home a loser though. Fortunately for him, he made up for his losses by selling his dream to a high bidder - a conglomerate who didn't have the passion to see it through. Someone who saw the potential, but failed in it's execution.

Though Steve sold his dream, when he had it, it flew higher than he could imagine and it gave him what dreams give us - a sense of purpose and being that becomes ingrained in us and lines our spirit with a tangible spark that we never lose.

Through his dream, he was able to touch others and give them something that had been lacking - a voice, an ear and tender loving care.

Steve was one of my dream teachers. He taught me that in life, we have to go for it. Whatever we want is within our reach, but we have to reach for it. He made me realize that we are all dreams in the making - dreamers in the sky of destiny. He took my hands and held them to the zenith.

When all the dust settled and his dreams rose from the ashes, he still had those smiling brown eyes that I knew would never give up the pursuit of happiness. At that point, I knew that it's better to dream than to have never dreamed at all. Thank you Steve.

I don’t know what Steve is doing today, but I suppose that he is in the midst of another dream, sprinkling stardust across the horizon of fulfillment.

Do you think you need experience to cultivate your dreams or do you think you should just throw caution to the wind and just do it?