I wish I was better keeping a journal. I do, however, have a book that surfaces when I travel. A small, paperbound book filled with thick paper and my penmanship dresses quite a few pages. JD's too. Our travelogue, of sorts. I opened it a few nights ago by chance and came across a post from New Year's 2010, almost a year ago to the day. The entry chronicles life as it was in New Zealand, and the predicts how we'd ring in the New Year. It also had a list of goals. As I read back through the entry, I laughed.

JD is sitting in the other room with Polo right now. The house is freezing, I should probably turn on the heater. But I look back at the book.

This year appeared nothing like I imagined it would. My goals–as sincere as they were at the time–missed a major component: Dreaming. On the list were items I'd feel great to scratch off and think to myself Look! What! I! Accomplished! But none of them dared me to fail at something. Thankfully, opportunities came my way to remind me the value of risk, but I'm disappointed I didn't challenge myself before. To be honest, I was afraid.

A few nights ago, I sat down with that book and created a list of goals for 2011 and made sure I was afraid. Afraid to un-dream. Because one thing I've learned this past year is in the darkness of dreams, strength is revealed and passion takes flight…

My dreams and goals will stay privately tucked away in this book for a while, but I hope one day I can look back and be satisfied with daring to dream and failing. Or, better yet, succeeding.