The Dream I Dared to Chase

How I found it's essence in the most unexpected way

It’s always been a dream of mine to live in the West Village of Manhattan. I remember vividly the moment that dream was born. I was sitting on my mom’s couch in the den of our home deep in Cajun country, watching The Today Show. Barbara Walters was interviewing some bohemian types on the street, and I was enthralled.

People actually LIVE like that?
Yes, please.

At the time, I didn’t know I wanted to make art. I just knew the people on my TV screen seemed fun, interesting, and, as we said back then, “outta sight!” It was 1968—a year of upheaval, Vietnam protests, flower power, and hippies. While the adults around me were consumed by unrest, those bohemian folks on TV seemed to have a lock on how to live a joyous life.

Even as a little girl, I knew this would be part of my future. I was only 8 or 9, but the spark was lit.

As the youngest in a large family, born much later than my siblings, I was often relegated to watching and not speaking. So, I watched. And what I saw didn’t impress me.

Go to work. Go to church. Go to family gatherings. Repeat.

Our family gatherings, filled with dozens of relatives, were our equivalent of the country club. But none of the adults around me seemed truly happy or joyous. Not a single one.

To my little girl’s spirit, this seemed… off. I never spoke about it to anyone. Instead, I let my inner knowing agree with what I felt: There has to be more

I’d retreat to my favorite closet in my big sister’s bedroom with my crayons and coloring books, and I’d try to feel the energy of those bohemian creators I saw on TV. I did this for years.

Fast forward to my mid-30s. After two failed attempts to ask for a divorce from the preacher, I finally got my wish. Free of the ridiculous expectations placed on the wife of a man of the cloth, it was my turn.

I was going to NYC.

I landed on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, married to a classical pianist. I threw myself into his career. Together, we accomplished some pretty incredible projects. But I wasn’t living like a bohemian, making art, or hanging out in street cafes. That was the dream.

But I was close.

My time in Manhattan left me with priceless memories and connections. It wasn’t the exact dream, but it taught me something: the essence of a dream can transcend the details.

Now, I live in a small high-rise in the heart of a mid-sized city nestled among the Blue Ridge Mountains. And guess what?

I’m living the essence of that dream.

To live each day in bold, living color. To make art. To create communities of like-minded people for the sheer joy of connection and conversation.

No, I’m not in NYC, but I’m living my dream—and golly, it feels terrific.

More dream stories to come, no doubt. It’s been a wild roller coaster ride these past 40 years, and I’m thrilled to share it with you. My hope is that these words uplift, inspire, and encourage you to pause and consider your own dreams.

Warmly,
Monica