FAUX REAL

41

For the first time in my life, I'm directionless. I can go east, west, north, or south. I can move up, down, side to side. Hell, I don't have to move at all. I can stand right here. I can stand in this spot for as long as I need. No compass. No map. No plan. It's kind of liberating. The solace of stillness.

I always thought that standing in one spot meant that you're lost, that you're stuck, that you're moving backward, further and further away from the finish line. But I was wrong. Mistaken.

The finish line isn't stagnant. It's moving. Always moving. And I think that sometimes when you stop moving the finish line actually moves closer and meets you exactly where you're standing. It comes to you.

When we're little we're told to chase our dreams. But what does that mean? Does it mean if our dreams don't come true that we weren't running fast enough? That we didn't put in enough effort? That we gave up? Got tired? Distracted? Exhausted?

Maybe it's time to stop chasing dreams and allow dreams to chase us. To attract rather than pursue. To take a break from running and just wait. Be patient. Have faith. Have confidence. And just let the universe do its thing.

I thought I knew what I wanted. Harvard. I was dead sure that would make me happy. That that shiny acceptance letter would bring me joy. That it would fill the void. That empty spot in my heart that I kept trying to ignore. But it didn't. It couldn't have. Why? Because I was chasing. I was chasing a dream that wasn't even mine.

My dream, my real dream, is coming true right now. It's not as big or important or life altering as Harvard but who cares. It's mine. And it's happening right now.

"Stand still, lisa!" my mom scolds, mumbling through the hair pins in her mouth. "Rosie, go ask your mom for some more hairspray. I need all the help I can get!"

"On it!" Rosé laughs, jumping off her bed and rushing out of her bedroom. She might look like a damn highlighter in that neon yellow pants-suit, but I'm a little jealous of her mobility. "Mom! Diana needs more hair poison!"

"You look so beautiful, honey," my mom smiles, pinning a ringlet to the rest of the half up-do. "Like a modern day princess."

"Princess, huh?" My eyes narrow as I look at my reflection in the floor length mirror. The satin forest green evening gown hugging my body is pretty but I wouldn't stay it screams royalty. "I don't see it."

"That's because you're looking with your eyes," she says as Rosé and Alice stroll back into the room, supplies in hand. My mom leans into my ear and whispers, "You need to look with your heart."

"Hearts have eyes now? Wow. Looks like someone got into your stash," Rosé jokes, glancing at her mom. "Thought you locked the cabinet."

"Ignore her." Alice rolls her eyes, flicking the side of Rosé's head. "My child has no filter."

"Filters are for coffee," she says, swatting her mom's hand away. "Not people."

"Seeing as you're caffeine personified perhaps a little filter would do you some good," I tease as my mom sprays the back of my head with hairspray, the fumes filling my nostrils. "Okay, enough. Jeez, you're making me highly flammable."

"Oh!" My mom claps her hands as I spin around. "You can be a fire dancer!" Oh my god. Here we go again. "I can see it now! Lisa Manoban: The Girl on Fire!"

"That's from The Hunger Games, diana," Rosé notes with a laugh as I face palm. "But I'm here for it."

"Me too! I am in full support of this new career path," Alice chuckles. "You would own the Venice Beach Boardwalk. Here—" She removes a dollar from her pocket and hands it to me. "Your first paycheque."