Dear Dreamer,

I give you permission to move. Because no matter what you decide to do, this world will spin crazily on and leave you twirling in its wake. So with the moment or ahead of the curve, let your limbs flail and your passions twist as you fill with the life around you. Dance. Hard and long and exhausting. Topless and on the table top. For someone. For you. For no one at all. As the world whirls by at too fast a speed, don’t ever stop moving.

Unless of course it’s time to settle, in which case you have my permission to catch your breath. To set roots. To build home. Because no matter whether it’s a building or a town or a language or a people, we need a place that sustains us. A base camp to come back to. A pit stop at which to refuel. So while you’re out there chasing things, don’t forget to build a nest while you’re at it. Or perhaps a shell might prove more appropriate. But make sure you are creating a place to settle. A place to grow old with or in when all your moving slows.

And know that I give you permission to fall, Dreamer. Because we’re all here just waiting to catch you. Waiting to slink with you to the floor, to sit there and rest a while, before hoisting you back to your feet where we will watch you run again. It would be an honor to be rest on. A privelege to hold your hand. So don’t let fear of falling stop you, friend. Your net is wide and its strength is deep. Don’t hesitate to test the waters.

And when you’re there riding the wave, Dreamer, you have my permission to celebrate. Every single success. Scream from the roof tops as you chase down those things after which you so desperately seek. Be proud. And pull us all in to the party. No doubt it will be a little louder and way more fun than wherever we were before you called. As we all ride the tide, let us not forget to pause a moment and celebrate together.

You have my permission to try. Again and again and again. Until the paint is just the right hew, until the stroke looks almost perfect. Try and try and try. Because you won’t know until you have, and because there is too much to lose if you don’t. So pick your palette wisely. Try for the best and hope for anything other than the worst, and know you’ll be better for having tried at all. You already are.

And when you’ve tried and won, or tried and failed, or when you’ve simply outgrown or grown different than wherever you are I give you permission to leave, Dreamer. Leave the almost perfect for the pretty damn great. Leave the almost to find the there. Because the sunrise is sweetest through a rear view mirror, with a full tank headed west and a hand on the helm. The recipe has yet to fail me, tried and true. So don’t hesitate to leave Dreamer, because we’re all waiting with anticipation of your next move. And if you choose to stay? Well in that case we’ll still be here Dreamer. Hoisting. Holding. Hoping.

So move if you must. Trust your gut. Keep that heart safe, but put it to the test. Against all logic and reason, in the name of passion and lust, move. Be it for the road or the moment or the passion of a dark night and a wide field. Be safe with yourself and be patient with the world, and chase down what is yours for the taking.

You have my ok.

Now give yourself permission.

Move. Dance. Live. Fall. Stand up again. And dance some more. And then come back home to me.

Because I miss you like hell, Dreamer. Like a limb. Like a familial love that has settled deep and real and aches for proximity.

So next time you’re in town, stop in for a drink. Linger a while. Shed some layers. Share some stories. Feed an inspiration that you exude like sweat from the pores of a hot laborer on a humid day. Let us wipe that brow. It would be a privilege.

Go get ’em Dreamer.