Being a Dream Coach
I’d like to pretend I’m on those people that wakes in the middle of the night with a bolt of inspiration and ten months later, I’ve whipped out a best-selling novel or creating the next health bar. Dream to inspiration to success, in three easy steps like the original 1978 Guinsu knife infomercials.
A few mornings ago, I woke, not with a new idea about a book, but a new vocation. It’s called A Dream Coach. Know that a dream coach is? My job definition for a Dream Coach is a person who listens to my dreams, my desires and my aspirations, then pushes back, refines and focuses my dream into something tangible. This is radically different from a Life Coach, who would require I live in a world of reality, and that defies the point. This isn’t reality, it’s my dream.
Not Found Here
Early on, I accused my husband of killing my dream(s). Know how? By not “supporting” it. I expected him to read and re-read every page of my crappy first manuscript, offering advice and tips in a constructive thoughtful manner that would embolden our relationship and of whom I’d then applaud in the front matter of my book (without my husband, this wouldn’t have been possible type of thing).
This was not to be. Rog is not Stephen King’s wife, retrieved a draft copy of Carrie from the trash when King thought it wasn’t good enough for print and encouraged him to keep after it. My husband would just say “there goes one more tree.”
The Dream Coach
I’d like someone with a confessional ear (non-judgmental), patient (I can talk about my dream 3x a wk if I want to), who is forceful (after hearing my dream for the fourth time, shut me up and tell me to get going), and directed (project manage me/check in with my progress) and of course, fun (knows when to stop and get my chocolate ice cream). I don’t really want a dream killer to tell me the dream will take too long, is silly, outrageously expensive and in short, a waste of time. My dream coach would tell me a)I can do it, b) I will do it, c) I can learn the skills necessary to accomplish my dream, and d) I’d have fun along the way.
Me, Myself and my dream coach
I explain all of this to Roger, who looks like I’ve slipped a drug in his Coke, for he gives me this quasi-delusional look that asks “are we really having this conversation?” I instantly know there will never be a ‘right time’ for this conversation, at least not with him. I consider my alternatives… sibling, mom, friend…knowing why the coaching relationship won’t work before I ask the question. Each of these individuals are already convoluted with preconceived notions, roles and opinions about me, my life and my role therein that might take away from the dream at hand.
The only other person(s) in my life are peers from my professional world: fellow dreamers who believe the word “no” is two letters put together in a meaningless way. Those people who have one finger for the opinions of others. Individuals who act, and don’t whine.
Thinking back, I ask myself ‘have I ever shared my dreams with others in this category?’ Absolutely. In fact, the last time was in December, right after I ‘dreamt’ up the idea to launch a new business site. I shared my dream, got the feedback it might work, received inputs on what I might include and what things I should leave out. The following week, I created the site and launched it, making it publicly available.
From dream to delivery in eight days flat.
“That’s not really a dream,” Roger tells me. “That was an idea that you ran with. You skip right over the whole dreaming part.”
Am I really?
He shakes his head, disgusted he’s even having to tell me this. “I’ve been with you 15 years. You don’t have time dream. You just do. You just like the idea of dreaming because it sounds romantic.”
Huh. I’ll go dream about it…but I still like the notion of being someone’s Dream Coach. I might not need one, but I like to think I can motivate and inspire when others are negative, like the little brown raincloud in Winnie the Pooh. I’ll hang the sign on my door…Dream Coach In. Payment due when dream realized.