Hope

I dreamt last night that I was dating a much younger man.

A boy, really.

But there was nothing the least bit salacious about it, though the boy in my dream was only about 18 years old.

I was the same age in my dream. I was tall and lean and beautiful and infused with a feeling of strength and power so vivid that even now it hovers tantalizingly close, just outside daylight’s grasp.

And it was summertime and we were at the lake and we were surrounded by sun-kissed friends and the August air was thick with possibility and yearning. And if I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I can smell the air still and it moves me to tears because it smells so impossibly sweet.

I have stress in my life right now. I have adult problems, heavy and complicated: problems that will be resolved, but only by putting my 38-year-old head down and slogging grimly through them.

And so it was with a heavy heart that I awoke from my summer dream this cold, dark February morning. It was with an exquisite ache that I felt summertime slip from my memory and disappear into the gloom.

But summer will be back, of this I am certain.

Because even as I shivered and my bones protested the early hour, a tiny ray of sunshine beckoned me forward.

The road to glory is paved with delusions

The Winter Olympics are headed to Whistler, British Columbia in 2010 and their imminent arrival in my home country has got me thinking a lot about Olympic glory.

My own Olympic glory.

For me.

I’m serious.

When I was a kid I used to watch the Olympics, winter and summer, with fervent excitement. Though not a serious athlete at any other time, during the few weeks they were televised I imagined that one day, one day, I might find myself up there on the podium. You probably did the same thing.

It never occurred to me that it wasn’t within the realm of possibility – Of course I can compete at the Olympic level, I just don’t feel like it right now.

As I got a little older, you might think my Olympic dream would die a sensible death – along with yours probably. But it didn’t. Instead I just methodically started to eliminate the categories in which winning a gold medal was least likely.

Gymnastics was the first to go. I mean how much do those girls weigh? Like, 20 pounds?

Figure Skating? Umm, I don't do sequins. High Jump? I’m only five feet seven inches tall. Downhill skiing? I still have some trouble with black diamond runs. Swimming? I don’t think I want to develop my shoulders that much.

As the years have passed I have had to admit there are fewer and fewer events in which I could potentially win an Olympic gold medal. It’s become a bit of an obsession with me. Just last week I mentioned to Rob that I thought ping pong was still a possibility. You know, if I started now.

He was adamant that the ping pong window had long closed and after a long and surprisingly heated discussion on the relative athleticism of Olympic-level ping pong players, I had to concede he was probably right.

No matter how improbable your dreams, it’s not easy to see windows of opportunity close as you age. Diminishing possibilities are a fact of life, but difficult to accept nonetheless and I am the first to admit that I harbor pretty grand illusions (delusions?) about what is still achievable.

Traveling around the world? Darn tootin’. My grandmother did it in her 70s, 80s and 90s. Charity work in the Third World? You better believe it. That’s a large part of how I plan to spend my retirement.

World-renowned super model? Umm, okay probably not. Prime Minister of Canada? If I wanted to: I just don’t think I want to.

World famous writer and cult hero? But of course! In fact, this blog is my first step on the road to complete global cultural domination

You’re laughing, but I really believe that.

Seriously.

My point, and I do have one, is that most days I still believe that the world is my oyster. I still believe that anything can happen, that I can have greatness thrust upon me or, more likely, if I work hard enough I can still make my fondest desires a reality.

Am I overly optimistic about how the world works or worse, my abilities?

Maybe. Probably. But I’ve never been a shrinking violet and I’ll take self-delusion over self-defeat any day.

As far as Olympic glory goes, my 15-year-old nephew is currently ranked in his age group as the number three slalom skier in Canada (number 31 in the world), so I may well make it to the Olympics yet, if only as a spectator.

That is, if I’m not too busy practicing my archery. I think I still have a shot at a gold medal in archery.