Dreaming a new world

Dreaming a new reality, while the world is literally burning.

Close your eyes and envision yourself existing in a world that does not limit you because of your appearance, past experiences, or your own cultural beliefs. In this world you exist in freedom of all forms and variations that align with you. Notice your body and light you feel without the weight of the world on your shoulders.

This was my sign recently that it’s time for me to start looking at the world for what it is rather than the potential of a world that is fair. The prompt was living in a dream whilst living in the moment, but today as reality settles it feels like living in a dream whilst living in hell.

The smoking mirror does not fog in our presence only of the ones that desire the darkness. Why else would they be so obsessed with us? Our dark skin, makes them uncomfortable but it’s time we respond to how uncomfortable their whiteness makes us. There is intention in my words, our dark skin makes them uncomfortable and their lack of humanity makes us uncomfortable.

Maybe it’s time we take a look in the mirror and build a new world for ourselves to dream beyond the limitations.

Teisha submitted a piece on how dreaming may cost you, and I promise you by the end of this read you will be ready to claim your freedom on your own terms.

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Dreaming May Cost You

teisha leshea

Daydreaming has been a form of escapism for me. As early as puberty, I would daydream about my class crush, being popular, and being "skinny." Being introduced to the realities of the world at a young age, I often daydream for comfort and protection. It allowed me to tell stories and reframe narratives that no one can change.

As my brain developed and my body changed, keeping up with my dreams was painful. Reality made me so uncomfortable that I started to daydream less and lean into reality more. Growing up with a militant young father, I realized some of the lessons my father taught me were supposed to be for his first son, not his first daughter. With no experience as a dad or a husband, I can't blame him for trying, or my mother.

At a young age, I received a clear message: "Keep your head on the swivel and trust nobody." No wonder, as an adult, I have trust issues. That's another topic for another day. I was forced to learn about Black history, racism, and to work ten times as hard to get the bare minimum. After being hit in the head with Black history, I didn't have time to dream or relish in my accomplishments. It was always "back to the grind," knowing one misstep could cost your life.

My parents' survival mode and anxieties didn't allow me to dream; I always had to think about the possible outcomes before making a decision. Dreams? What dreams? Growing up, I didn't hear that often. As we all know, language is essential, and thinking before speaking saves you embarrassment.

Although I've always wanted to talk about my dreams, I wasn't given the space to do so. Both of my parents want to know what my plan is and what I will do. If you're not in school, you're working; if you're not, you're in school. Those were the only two options most Black children had growing up because we can't afford to "sit around and do nothing."

My dreams were always surrounded by career. I knew at a young age that I wanted to work in healthcare. I wanted to be a pediatric nurse, and I wanted to wear a white coat. I confused a nurse with a doctor, but something about wearing a "white coat" exuded power and authority. I wanted it bad as a child, and for years, that was my destiny, so much so that it said I would be a nurse on a fortune cookie that my mom kept for years.

The plan I set out was the one I wanted. Being young and naive, I didn't factor in the backroads, hills, and alleys I had to drive through to arrive at my destination. I often ask people what age is your trauma. After speaking with a therapist, I realized that my trauma started at twelve, and with trauma comes self-doubt, lack of self-esteem, and motivation. Soon, my plan changed from using bedside manners to now in the background calling insurance and speaking to patients about their medical bills.

My dream disappeared, and I didn't have time to think about how I felt because, again, "What's my plan?" My get-it-together adult clock is ticking, and I need to figure something out to avoid disappointment, embarrassment, and family shame. As the oldest, I took the bullets so my siblings could flourish. I didn't have an older sibling to help guide what my dreams were; I had to figure everything out through trial and error with mostly error.

When I hear white people speak about the "American Dream," I automatically translate that to "White Dream" because if the dream was to have a white picket fence with a dog, Black people were never a part of that conversation. Jim Crow and redlining kept us out of the dream. I can have all the requirements and still not be afforded the opportunity based on skin color I can't change.

Let's face it America was built on scheming, scamming, and stealing, and as far as I can remember, Black people are the most forgiving group of people I've ever met; knowing this makes me question why Black people haven't flipped tables and put America on its ass. Just for slavery alone, we should be burning this muthafucka down.

Dream? What dream?

It's hard to have a clear mind and spirit with people who see our melanin as a threat and try to stand before the sun to block us from our blessings and peace. It's hard to dream without peace.

I've never wanted the American Dream. The blood spilled in this country alone makes me resist any "American Dream." Outside of daydreaming, I've never dreamed of what my reality would look like. The furthest I've ever gotten was grabbing a piece of paper and writing my list of what I needed to do, never what I wanted to do. The only way I can tip off a dream is to create momentum. Most of us suffer from the disease "When I..."

When I get a job

When I lose weight

When I get married

When I have $30,000 in savings

Then I can…

I was reminded of this terrible disease when I responded to a chat question on rest and resistance. My response:

"The last time I felt this exhausted was in a vocational school. I didn't have a laptop then, so many of my homework and assignments were completed on campus. Every other day, I spent, on average, 16 hours per day on campus. Hustling and bustling, working towards a "vacation" and riding on the hope of "Once I get a job...." 18 years later, I have over 8 years of experience, no job, and right back into the hustle and bustle of "Once I get a job...."

Now that I've had years of life, I often ask myself what the dream looks like. I had money and lost it, got jobs and got let go of jobs, and didn't have a place to go, lived paycheck to paycheck. I'm learning to live in reality and allowing myself to live in a dream. I still don't have it all together and probably never will. I have stories to share, nieces and nephews to love on and guide, my siblings looking to me for comfort, my mobile parents, and the spirit of my granny, who will forever live on.

I want to be surrounded and comforted by people who look like me and enjoy culture, arts, music, and just being Black. That's love and community, and as the tides continuously rise, more Black people are linking arms to protect our richness and gatekeeping what's ours.

My dream has been in front of me the entire time, and the beauty of any dream is that you can switch out characters and scenery as many times as you want.

Dreaming wakes you, and living lets you see your dreams in real time. You are the main character of your story. Your story will never sell books if it only sits on the dream shelf. Live and live loudly. Your ancestors will thank you. 

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Submissions are still open for Blackstack Magazine 2026.