A Dream Realized

A dream realized. I have dreamed of living in Berlin for as long as I can remember. What should one do when a dream has been realized? Where to go? Has it even been realized or does it persist? If it persists, does this owe to the non-realization of the dream or to the romantic effort to retain the dream, to keep dreaming? This is the question every dreamer faces at some point upon the threshold of fulfillment. Although I say the threshold, if I’ve actually satisfied the dream, but nevertheless desire simply to continue dreaming, then threshold is perhaps the wrong word. Perhaps I should say within the foyer of the dream. Whether it’s a foyer to which I have taken deed or one that I simply rent, is the essential question. How do we know whether the dream has been satisfied? How do we identify reality? My dreams are such intimate things. Though I have spoken of this dream freely with many friends, there remains, nevertheless, an aspect to the dream that is solitary, lonely. The investment made in this dream cannot be known by those other than myself. And what I have invested in this dream? What have I hoped for from the dream that has been Germany, Berlin?

The first men that I met who I thought really understood me were Germans. First, there was Markus (one of my oldest and dearest friends). Then I met Andreas (who was dating a close friend Molly) and Frank (a friend of Andreas) a year or two later. With next to no effort, these guys just seemed to “get” me. I made sense to them. This early fecundity of German men planted the seeds that would, now years later, give rise to this inexplicable dream.

And so, here I am. In the middle of the financial crisis (Wirtschaftskrise) in Germany, trying to establish my existence, to fulfill that dream. The American dream? Our cultural heritage is to dream. We dream of houses, of cars, of picket fences, of people around the world dreaming to reach our shores. So much of the American cultural psyche involves dreaming. America, land of dreamers, somnambulant in the exercise of their hegemony over the world. Am I somnambulant? Am I dreaming still? Like Rip Van Winkel, sleeping for 20 years. What will I see when I wake? Will Germany still be there? Or just me, alone, with the knowledge that the dream was ever an illusion. And people are not so different? Perhaps there are other reasons to be abroad that have nothing to do with my dream? Does it make sense now to reach for these new rationales? Does it matter that they were not the progenitors of my German dream? I’m not sure. It seems likely that a dream fulfilled is, overwhelmingly, a sad thing. For the dream, the act of dreaming, animates us, breathes life into us. And that is a very nice thing.