Embracing Lost Dreams

I can’t wait to get out of this town and do something big with my life. I can see it now — New York City or California… me writing at a coffee shop and then walking out into the sun knowing I’m living out my dream.

— Journal entry from me at age 16.

I was recently chatting with my morning writing group on lost dreams. We were sharing the dreams of who we thought we’d be when we were younger and how that has evolved through the years. But we also touched on the fact that not many of us grieve for the dreams that are lost to the reality of growing up, making decisions, falling in love, etc. We so often move on from these dreams we once had to being an “adult” without properly grieving for the people we thought we were going to be.

And dream like New York
As high as the skyline
Aim for the stars above those city lights
I want to dream like New York
I’m running down Broadway
I got to catch the next train
I’m making my way

— Dream like New York by Tyrone Wells

When I wrote Lost in NYC, it was undoubtedly the most “me” novel I’d written. And that was purposeful. I wrote Lost in NYC mostly as a way to grieve for the dreams I had that I knew were never going to become reality. I wrote it to honor that part of me that still felt an attachment to that person I wanted to become. I’ve accepted that the dreams I had are not going to come to fruition and instead, I have new dreams that reflect my reality. But there’s still a tiny part of me that feels sad and nostalgic about that younger version of me who had so much vigor for chasing those dreams.

I look around the train and wonder if anyone else here left their home to chase a dream. I wonder if they too are struggling to find their place. If they feel lost in the sea of people. The sea of dreams this city collects like a selfish hoarder. Welcome to New York.

— Lost in NYC Excerpt

Writing Lost in NYC was one of the most “fun” experiences I’ve had with writing fiction because I got to play with my dreams. I put the main character, Mae, in specific situations I dreamed I’d be in. I let her fall in the way I thought I would fall. I let her experience that magical age where your dreams are all you have (or so you think) and chasing them means more than anything else in the world. I allowed her the grace of being young, naive, and dream-hungry. I let her have wins and losses. I let her explore what it meant to struggle with coming to terms with having a dream versus living in reality. I allowed myself the luxury of exploring New York City through Mae.

In a way, Lost in NYC, is also a love letter. To myself. To writing. To the process of falling in love. To dreams lost and found. To friendships. To making poor decisions that have ramifications we have to live with.

I think, because of my intention going into writing Lost in NYC, I had a much easier time (and a lot more fun) writing the novel than I expected. I let go of all the pressure to create something for others and instead focused on creating something for myself. And in that process, I found a new part of my voice that hadn’t existed in my previous novels. I found a voice that was mine yet not entirely mine. Mae was a character that surprised me at every turn, taking on a life of her own. She spoke to me at times as a reflection of myself, but other times, she was her own person.

I use Lost in NYC as an example to my students and potential storytelling clients that writing to heal doesn’t have to look like a tragic story. The beauty of writing fiction to heal is that you can make it whatever you want to make it in the way that works for you, the writer. There’s a time and a place for writing about the horrible things… but there’s also a time and place to write about the things that fill you with joy and nostalgia and yes, even lost dreams.

Interested in turning your real-life experiences into a novel? Check out my offerings on how I help people tell the stories they want to tell.