Parable: What the Price of a Dream Is
There was a little store on the outskirts of the
Universe. It didn’t have a sign because it had been blown away by a hurricane.
The owner of the store didn’t bother to put up another sign, since every local
knew that the store was selling dreams.
The store offered a tremendous choice. One could
buy almost anything: huge yachts, mansions, marriages, a position of a vice
president of a corporation, money, children, an interesting job, an attractive
body, a victory in a contest, big cars, power, success, and a whole lot more.
What you couldn’t buy were life and death: those goods could only be ordered
from the head office, located in another galaxy.
Everyone who came to the store (it must be noted
that there were people who never crossed its threshold: they kept dreaming
their dreams at home) would inquire about the price of their dream first.
Prices varied. For example, to get a good job one
had to give up stability and predictability, and had to be able to plan forward
and to structure their life, believe in their own power, and let themselves
work where they wanted, not where they had to.
Power was more expensive: one had to shun certain
personal convictions, find a rational explanation for everything, learn to say
no to others, know one’s worth (and the perceived worth had to be high enough),
be able to say I and talk about oneself in spite of others’ approval or
disapproval.
Some of the prices seemed weird: marriage was dirt
cheap, while a happy family life cost exorbitantly much: one had to pay for it
by being responsible for his or her own happiness, being able to find pleasure
in life, knowing his or her desires, suppressing the urge to match others’
expectations, being able to appreciate what they’ve got, allowing themselves to
be happy, realizing their own worth and importance, refusing to be a victim,
and carrying a risk of losing some friends and acquaintances.
Not everyone who entered the store was ready to
buy a dream immediately. Some people looked at the price, turned back, and
left. Others stood there for a long time, counting their money and trying to
figure out where to find more. Others started complaining that the prices were
too high, asked for a discount or inquired about a sale.
Certainly, there were people who pulled out their
wallet and paid full price for their dreams. They got their dreams packed in
nice rustling paper. Other visitors of the store looked at the buyers with
envy, rumoring that the store owner was the buyers’ friend and that they
received what they dreamed of for nothing, without any effort.
People would suggest to the store owner to lower
the prices so as to make the dreams more affordable to more people. He always
declined to do so because in that case, their quality would drop, too.
When asked if he wasn’t afraid of going bankrupt,
he shook his head and said that there would always be the brave souls who are
ready to risk and change their lives, giving up on the routinely and
predictable way of doing things, capable of trusting themselves, and powerful
enough to pay for the realization of their dreams.
There was a note on the door, which read, “If your
dream doesn’t come true, it hasn’t been paid for yet.” The note was up there
for a hundred of years or so.
By Yulia
Minakova
Translated
by The Catalog of Good Deeds
