It’s not her fault. She couldn’t really help herself. It’s in her DNA, passed down from her father…me. The “dreamer” gene. Sometimes I think it is a curse; other times a blessing. It is what keeps you awake at night, planning, scheming, dreaming of what might be.
If you’ve read anything I’ve written over the past several years, you already know I’m a dreamer. And my dreams are very limited and specific. Beyond my family, I only have two real interests in life: coffee and motorcycles. The motorcycle dreams are easy; traveling the USA should be doable before I’m too old. A few bikes trips to Europe as well, sure, why not?
The coffee dreams, on the other hand, those are the ones that haunt me. While some people can be content to march to the 9 to 5 drum beat, the dreamer struggles. Not to say he or she won’t do it; I’ve been working a “real job” for 38 years, but the desire to break free and follow the voices in your heart and head never goes away.
I can’t ever seem to put the coffee dreams to bed for long. At one time I was very serious about building a shop on wheels, roaster and all. I was able to put that fire out (I think), but I continue to envision an old, dilapidated brick warehouse somewhere with a vintage Probat coffee roaster, me standing by it’s side, smoke in the air, coffee in my veins, the Stones singing Gimme Shelter in the background. Can’t seem to give that one up.
Now it looks like one of my daughters has the fire too. I’m thrilled for her…and I’m sorry for her at the same time. Once in a while she will say something to me that sounds just like something I would have said and I go, “Damn, why did you listen to me when I talked like that! You should have ignored my starry-eyed idealism.” But she didn’t and now she is a business owner with a dream of her own.
Meet my daughter, Kristin, and her dream, Refined Threads. Pretty cool!