There is a woman in my dreams who lives in a beautiful house in the countryside.

A tranquil home with breathtaking views of sweeping hills, where honey stone walls drip with low hanging wisteria, cocooned by its sweet scent. Lush green grass grows in front. The greenhouse and kitchen garden burst with nourishing sustenance.

And I wonder: What would a woman who lives here do every day?

She writes, and creates art - tinkering in a workshop, or painting and sketching. She tends to her garden. She picks fresh flowers for her table and appreciates their miraculous beauty, filling her lungs with their scent.

As she walks with her dog over the rolling hills, the breeze strokes her skin, and the earth’s strength underfoot brings her power. The breathtaking beauty of her surroundings restore her.

Her body is well nourished with simple food. She embraces aging with fondness for every new line, bump, or pain. Care is daily stretching, yoga, gentle exercise and rest. She feels fortunate to understand the miracle of her life. She loves her home.

Meditation is a daily practice, calming her into a golden, inner bliss.

For those who once clipped her wings, she offers forgiveness.

She understands her flaws, her limitations, and still works on herself. A moth may land on her heart when memories of all she has lost return.

If demons rise, she acknowledges them, and sends them out into the winds. She sings kindness to her past selves, if regret or pain should rear their head.

Friends and family enjoy her home too, relaxing, comforting, or belly laughing together. She welcomes soulful wanderers in, in person and in writing, to reenergise and inspire. To shine a light. She provides a place of love, and solace to restore weary hearts.

Gratitude is knitted into her life. She acknowledges her good fortune to have enough; to be safe; to be nourished; to be alive.

My dream woman’s life is possible for me right now.

I am already her when I choose to be, just somewhere else.

I am her in a small suburban flat with a tiny garden, earning less than my peers, but with enough. I feel her feelings, her gratitude, her bliss: it is a practice. I create every day, and I write. I notice nature, just in smaller parks and gardens.

I already live as she lives.

We exist in a world of infinite possibility.

Life is a practice.

Maybe you too are closer to your dream than you think.

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