The Loneliness and Joy of the Long Distance Dreamer

When I was a teenager I had two main dreams – to be a writer and to travel the world.

I’d given up on both these dreams by the time I was 21.

I gave up on my writing dream when I got to university and realised that the writing world was a VERY posh place and I (wrongly) believed that someone from my, very NON-posh background just didn’t have what it took to make it.

I gave up on my travelling dream a couple of years after I dropped out of uni, despite having saved enough money for a round the world ticket from my crappy job in customer services. I didn’t have the luxury of a family home to come back to and I was terrified I’d end up jobless and homeless after my year of travel. So I spent my savings on a deposit for a flat instead and moved in with my friend.

A couple of years after that I got pregnant.

The thing about dreams is, you can’t turn them off like a tap. Or maybe you can but they still tend to haunt your thoughts, and my passion for writing hadn’t gone away. So as soon as my son was born I decided to take advantage of being on maternity leave and teach myself how to write.

I started off pitching articles and short stories to magazines and when some of these were published it gave me the confidence to try my hand at writing a non-fiction book. And when that was published I wrote my first novel, resulting in a 3 book deal.

My marriage to my son’s dad ended shortly after, so I raised my son from the age of four as a single mum.

I never wanted my son to live in the kind of environment I’d grown up in so I took on a whole range of jobs to supplement my writing income. Contrary to popular opinion, breaking into the best-sellers’ league is incredibly hard and most authors barely make minimum wage.

Although this meant we could live in a nice neighbourhood there was very little cash left over for luxuries. For many years I couldn’t afford to buy my son designer football boots, or a games console, or take him on holiday. But those were some of the happiest years of my life. The home we lived in might have looked like a time capsule from the 1970s, complete with its original avocado bathroom suite and cork-walled dining room (!) but it fast became a hub for my friends and his, a hive of fun activity.

And all through those years I kept holding onto the dream that one day I would earn enough money from my books that I wouldn’t have to work myself into the ground to make ends meet. And one day I’d be able to take my kid on a decent holiday. And who knows, maybe one day I’d be able to satisfy my long-held dream of travel too…

My son is now 25 and he’s inherited the travel bug big time, having already lived and worked in Brussels and Moscow and travelled to many other different countries.

I used to beat myself up over not having enough money to shower him with luxury goods and holidays but going without seems to have given him a real appreciation for the value of things and made him a thoroughly decent, non-materialistic human being.

And now, for the first time in my 25 year writing career, I’m in a position where I don’t need to do other work to supplement my writing income. I’m obviously aware that this could change in the future but for 2023 at least my long-held dream has come true.

The fact that it’s taken a quarter of a frickin’ century to achieve makes it feel all the sweeter. And it also means I can finally scratch my travelling itch.

My son and I just spent Christmas together in Bergen, Norway and it was such a magical experience.

On Boxing Day we decided to hike up one of the mountains surrounding the city. When we set off it was grey and drizzly and there came a point where my dodgy knee started to play up and I questioned whether it was worth keeping going.

But we kept climbing and then suddenly the path took a turn and we emerged into the most magical winter wonderland I’ve ever seen. Snow swirled in the air and the waterfalls had turned into foot long icicles and the towering pine trees were dusted white.

I no longer noticed the pain in my knee. All I felt was overwhelming joy that I got to experience such beauty - and with my son too.

It struck me afterwards that our hike was the perfect analogy for being a long-distance dreamer.

There are times when it gets lonely and painful; when you contemplate giving up. But if you can just hold on and keep moving forwards, the reward can be sweeter than you ever dreamed possible.

If you’re currently working towards a dream that seems to be taking forever to come true, please hang on in there. Keep moving forwards. Look for the gifts along the way, and trust that when it does happen it will feel all the more magical for the grit and the graft that you’ve put in.

Wishing you a wonderful 2023 full of dreams coming true!

Siobhan