My grandfather is celebrating his ninetieth birthday. An occasion worthy of celebrating in its own right. I mean, 90 is O.L.D.
He is of course celebrating it with a 10 days festival in Vienna with lunches and concerts every day. When I last spoke to my parents they were exhausted, but trying to keep up the pace with him.
And my parents? Well they're off next week to cycle from Prague to Vienna. They figured that as they were there, they might as well do it.
Dream big baby.
I grew up with a family of big dreamers. And I've seen the consequences that come from living them.
I've seen the successes and failures. But it's more than that. While I've never been afraid to dream it. I haven't necessarily lived the dreams. Or tried them.
Dreaming is one thing. Living them is another.
In recent years motherhood saw my world grow small. The enclosing circle of arms that needed me on a 24/7 basis meant my parameters shifted.
Big dreams were getting an unbroken night sleep or avoiding a tantrum.
In the past year therapy has helped me shift some of the mental bricks that were smothering my seeming incapacity to live the dreams.
I'm not afraid to say now that I'm a writer.
I'm not afraid to say I want our family to see the world. I want us to explore as much of it together as possible.
I'm not afraid to walk away from things.
Dream big baby.
This year we're going to live halfway up a mountain in the middle of an island. We're going to hang with monkeys and watch wild dolphin pods at sunset.
We're dragging our family to the middle of the mountains and snow for a month. We're going to be cold, it's going to be frosty and we're going to make amazing memories.
There's going to be horror airplane trips. There's going to be grizzling, meltdowns (probably mine)
But the memories we'll make?
They far outweigh the strict budget we're on, or the planning that goes into all.
I grew up dreaming big.
So will our kids.