Not Poetry

On Monday night I hung out with some people. I like them and their group, but I have never really been a part of that group. It just never happened. Anyway, we were at starbucks, and they asked me what I was doing. Where I was going. You know, those questions I don't really have answers to. One of them tried to ask me if I 'dream' without making it sound cheesy, but that didn't work. They told me about how, when they involve themselves in what they know they are going to do, it fills them up. Excites them. They become alive. I have a friend, who wasn't there, but he said that to find your purpose, write a list of potentials on a piece of paper until you find one that makes you cry. Something deeply moving.
So, I am keeping my eyes open, and searching for this thing that makes me cry and gives me life and excites me. At the coffee shop, one of the girls were talking about how they have dreams, but that really they are just God's dream that he is sharing with her. That she can only do so much, so when she identifies it as her dream, she limits how far it can go to how far she can go. Somehow, see yourself as part of God's dream. He can take it farther.
If God has a dream for me to participate in, why doesn't He just give it to me? Once, a guy asked us how the relationship between us and God works. How much do we have to put in? How much does God put in? This didn't seem like a crazily important question those years ago. Now it seems more...relevant. I have to go. God, where is my dream? Your dream? Years ago? I'm getting old. What the deuce.