New Orleans Dreams

 I could swear I was meant to be from a generationally wealthy family from a beautiful town in New Orleans. My worst problem being that my parents are too busy for me. I would have a charming personality, very extroverted and most importantly… free! 

Generational wealth; meaning none of these ‘modern’ buildings. I would live in a mansion, one with secret rooms, huge bedrooms and a life sized library.

I could’ve been from England too, not necessarily royal but definitely wealthy. I would have access to original books from whatever author I desired, I would understand and connect to the minds that created Harry Potter and Peter Pan.

But here I am, neither in New Orleans nor in England, yet my dreams persist, ever so fervently.

I find myself often wandering in the realms of what ifs, the grandeur of imagined wealth and the opulence of a life unbound by financial constraints. In my mind, I host lavish parties in my ancestral mansion, the kind where the laughter never fades and the champagne flows like a never ending river. Guests would marvel at the art adorning the walls, each piece a testament to my family's refined taste and centuries old legacy.

Sometimes, I picture a different scenario. I'm in the countryside of England, surrounded by rolling hills and ancient oaks. My estate, a symbol of timeless elegance, sprawls over acres. I'd spend my afternoons riding horses, feeling the wind as a companion, free from the shackles of a mundane life with so many limitations. Evenings would be reserved for intellectual pursuits in my private study, walls lined with first editions and rare manuscripts, each book a doorway to another world.

Yet my reality is starkly different. I navigate through the hustle of a city that never sleeps, in a modest apartment that barely fits my dreams. But does it matter? Perhaps not. For in my heart, I carry the essence of those grand places. The spirit of New Orleans and the charm of English countryside live within me, fueling my creativity, shaping my writing. They say you are the sum of your experiences, but I believe you are also the sum of your dreams.

So as I sit to write, my humble abode transforms. The walls stretch, the ceiling soars, and I am transported to the mansion of my dreams. And in these moments, I am free, boundless, a soul untethered by the mundane, living a thousand lives through my words. For isn't that the true essence of existence? The freedom to dream, to create, to be whoever you want to be in the stories you tell.

I get lost in my head so much I cannot endure material reality. I long for solitude; for therein lies my path to self discovery.