I found myself stood at the gate this morning…
not going anywhere in particular, just… there.
It’s a funny old place, a gate.
You’re not quite inside, not quite out.
And for some reason, that’s where the thinking starts.
I’d been turning something over in my mind — nothing heavy, just one of those quiet questions that wanders in uninvited.
Which matters more…
a memory, or a dream?
Now at first, it feels like an easy answer.
Memories are real, aren’t they?
They’ve happened. They’ve got weight to them.
You can almost reach out and touch them if you sit still long enough.
A laugh that caught you off guard.
A place that meant more than it should have.
A moment you didn’t know was important… until it was gone.
Memories are like that.
They don’t ask permission — they just come back and sit with you.
But then… there’s dreams.
Not the kind you have when you’re asleep, but the ones you carry around without always admitting it.
The quiet ones.
The “maybe one day” ones.
The ones that keep a bit of light on, even when things feel a touch dim.
Dreams haven’t happened.
They don’t have proof.
No evidence.
No guarantees.
And yet…
They pull you forward.
Memories hold your hand from behind.
Dreams give you a nudge from in front.
And there I was, stood at the gate, realising… it’s not really a choice between the two.
Because one without the other feels a bit… incomplete.
If all we had were memories, we’d spend our days looking backwards.
And if all we had were dreams, we’d have nothing to stand on.
But together…
Well, together they do something quite special.
They keep us balanced.
Grounded… but still moving.
And maybe that’s the point of a gate after all.
It’s not there to keep you in… or to shut the world out.
It’s there to remind you —
you can pause for a moment…
look back with a bit of gratitude,
look forward with a bit of hope…
and then, when you’re ready…
just gently push it open.