I'd been dreaming at the moment I woke up, about an hour ago (post-script, 1½ hours ago). In the dream, I was back in college. It wasn't my alma mater, but rather a performing arts school like Julliard or Berklee (in my youth, in my aspirational dreams). One of my classmates was James Earl Jones.
OK, it's a dream, right? So, sometimes things don't line up as neatly as they do in real life. Wait. In real life, things line up neatly? HA! Oh sorry. Tangeting. Back to the story.
So, I meet James, and he's this ambitious and focused young man who revels in elocution classes as he plots for greatness as the foremost voice in entertainment. This is his one and only goal, and he pursues it with fervor. I think to myself, "wait, that can't be right... he started as an actor and then people recognized the power of his voice." But my doubt was allayed when he pulled me aside and spoke to me of his plan.
He believed his voice would be the most recognized voice in the world, he told me. He knew he had to do a lot of ancillary work to enhance his voice talent -- Shakespearean acting, singing lessons, deep breathing meditation. But he was willing to do whatever it took, no matter how seemingly unrelated, in order to achieve his goal. Absorbed in his every word, I saw a vision of the future and, at that point, witnessed his success. Then I shook my head to bring myself back to the present, and a turkey ran past James and me, toward a wooded dell.
Dreams may seem like silly mish-mashes of unconnected details. I don't believe it. No matter how fantastical the story may seem in its dream state, I believe every detail is relevant -- nay, critical -- to the dreamer's life. Except that last bit about the turkey.