At age 15, I had a strange dream that I remember to this day. The weather was sunny. The wind was calm. I was wearing a black dress, standing in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I was standing in front of a house on a hill. It was a beautiful, old Victorian, the house (literally) of my dreams. As I stood there, a lady was walking toward me on the sidewalk. She was walking a dog, a cocker spaniel I believe. She waved and said "Hello, welcome to the neighborhood" and I smiled and greeted her as well. It may not seem like much of a dream but it's one that stuck with me for some odd reason. But as I formed new memories and grew up, I began to not dwell on it so much of course. It was just some weird dream after all, right?
Fast forward to 2009, in my twenties and I never knew where my decisions would lead me. I certainly did not see myself moving to Michigan, sprinting out of my comfort zone to be with my significant other. But there I was. The small town I moved to seemed oddly familiar. And upon first arriving, I told my boyfriend multiple times that I felt like I had been there already.
So, we went to a friend's wedding and I was wearing a black dress. No surprise there, I was always wearing black. I joked that I looked like I was headed to a funeral instead. Before the ceremony, we decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. We found ourselves on a hill. Atop the hill sat three beautiful, very old houses. And there was my house. The Victorian I'd dreamed about ten years ago. Big deal, right? There are so many similar-looking Victorian houses in the United States. But, what freaked me out the most is that a few feet behind us was the smiling lady with the cocker spaniel. "Hello. Welcome to the neighborhood" she said.
Five years after that, I was living in the dreamy Victorian. My 15 year old self would be stoked if I told her that some dreams really do come true.