It's scary to dream big...

I found myself sad today. Sad and quiet. How funny and quite ironic that this is the day I chose for my big online launching of Million Kisses. I suppose it's perfect this way because it's honest.

I've been dreaming pretty big lately and I blame it on my house. I just bought my dream house on December 24, 2009. My cousin owned this house for the last 14 years. I remember when I was a spritely 19 years old, I walked into this house and said, "Someday I will have a house just like this one." Brick, centrally located, garden, wood floors, art room so I don't have to clean up my projects every time. But mostly I love the color. This house was most likely victim of Indian Holi celebrations and when given the chance, makes stuffy black suits asked to be doused in its magical powers by splashing bohemian stars across their chests. Turquoise exterior, orange kitchen, blue bedroom, green living room...oh the colors inside and out, like living within my very own three dimensional canvas.

The Universe told me at the beginning of 2009 that it would be a very good idea for me to buy a house. I flipped out. Doesn't that mean dying? Doesn't it mean I'm stuck in prison forever with bars blocking the same view from the same window for the rest of my miserable life? The world traveling barefoot and quite immature teenager in me was livid, and I didn't talk with my Cosmic parent for weeks. After I calmed down I got another answer, calm as silk,

"I know your heart. You'll want a house this year, and I will drop the perfect house in your lap."

He said that because He knew I was scared of growing up, because my definition for years of a true "grown-up" has always been:

GROWN-UP: A person who owns furniture.

Owning furniture would be like a concrete block tied to my traveler's feet. But trusting the Universe, and reminding myself that I still knew how to buy plane tickets, I started looking for a house. After hunting for 7 months of the year, hoping that one of those houses would feel heavy enough to be "falling in my lap..." I got a feeling I needed to visit my cousin. It was an awkward 15 minute greeting, as she and her family were about to have dinner. Should they invite me to join them, did I have a reason for being there, should I come in or stay at the porch...

I was about to leave when Kim, my cousin said,
"Oh! I heard you bought a house!"
"No," I answered, "It fell through."
"Too bad," she said, "Funny, we're accepting an offer on the turquoise house tomorrow."
I nodded.
"Unless..." Kim looked at me, "You want to look at it."

I looked at it. I remembered how much I loved it. I made an offer, and within a few weeks, the keys were in my hand. I've lived there for a month now, and I'm still not used to the joy of having Holi colors splashed on me.

I always thought I'd get a house "like" this one. Never did I believe I would get the very house that I asked for 10 years earlier. She's over 100 years old and, in ceremony, explained to me that I don't own her. Instead, she explained in her wisdom, that we are a partnership. She has had many names over the years with all the people trailing through her corridors. She revealed to me her name for our time together. Ruby Bleu.

The exciting presence of Ruby Bleu in my life has made me dream even bigger and believe those dreams are even more possible. And yet, dreaming big is still scary. Many people outside of my closest circles don't know how nervous I get to visualize beyond the "realistic", but it's important to me to share that bit of information publicly. People see me create my life ferociously, and confidently. They see me use my faith as a well sharpened tool.

Sometimes, though, the dreaming feels too big, like it's top heavy. That's the sadness I felt today...The Universe told me two days ago that one of my dreams is not aligned with His. We are co-creators afterall, so truly I don't want it if the alignment is off. Sigh. I just feel sad letting go of one of my dreams.

But I haven't lost faith. In moments when the veil of sadness cleared today, I did hear the Universe's silky sweet whisper say:

"What I have in store for you instead is much more wild and beautiful than your most wild and beautiful dream, and you haven't even begun to dream it yet..."

The teenager in me is not pleased. I. want. now. The grown-up in me, who now owns the most perfect pieces of furniture, raises a curious eyebrow to the sky.