The Impossible Dream

The Power of Being Truly Seen

Last Saturday night was surreal—like one of those dreams where everything feels both familiar and extraordinary at the same time. After months of preparation, "Dreams & Mysteries: An Evening with Kirk Sheppard & Friends" finally happened, and I'm still processing the waves of emotion that washed over me throughout the event.

The evening was ostensibly a celebration of my two books, but it evolved into something much more profound. As I stood there watching CCM musical theatre students Ry Dever and Annika Jonker bring their incredible talents to songs like "Corner of the Sky" from Pippin and "Astonishing" from Little Women, I felt a surreal combination of pride and bewilderment that I was sharing a stage with these two powerhouses. Their voices, accompanied by the talented Rosamund Hencinski, filled the space with the kind of magic that reminds you why we create in the first place—to connect, to move, to inspire.

My colleague Sharon Hicks brought her signature blend of wisdom and warmth, performing original poetry, "Dancing Queen" and "Becoming," and others. Another shared a Moth-style story called "The Narrows," reframing her disappointment into hope—a reminder that our setbacks often lead to unexpected discoveries.

Throughout the evening, I shared excerpts from my books, including pieces from "The Search Party" and "Jesus & Me." Last weekend, a kind friend pointed out several errors in the text of “The Search Party.” It was embarrassing, but I confronted it with an email to those who’d already purchased copies and printed up a half-sheet of corrections to insert into the unsold versions I had. I fixed it for future printings, too.

Both admitting those errors and then publicly reading from my books felt vulnerable and exhilarating at the same time. I had friends in attendance. Former students. Even my hair stylist came.

And then came the moment to sing "The Impossible Dream" from Man of La Mancha. I'd practiced for weeks, working with Sharon as my accompanist. Was my voice perfect? Far from it. In fact, the recording from rehearsal was technically better. But standing there, embracing the imperfection of the moment, I realized something important: dreams aren't about perfection—they're about courage. They're about moving forward despite the fear, despite knowing you might miss a note or your voice might crack. Because in the end, it's not about the flawless performance; it's about showing up for yourself and your passions.

What I hadn't anticipated—what I couldn't have prepared for—was what happened after my performance. One of my former counseling students, the amazing LaShanda Sugg, came on stage and began speaking about how I'd impacted her life and her work. Her words caught me completely off guard. Then Sharon joined her and said wonderful things about me. And finally, my best friend stepped up to share what our friendship has meant to her over the years.

It reminded me of a memory from elementary school when I attended a high school talent show and someone sang that comedy song, "Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble, when you're perfect in every way." I'm certainly far from perfect—I know my flaws and limitations and despite trying to hide them through humor and dazzling amounts of charisma, they are omnipresent.

Still in that moment, surrounded by such genuine love and appreciation, I understood the power of being seen—truly seen—by others.

There's something profound about dreams and mysteries—they shape us in ways we often don't fully understand until we look back. Saturday night wasn't just about celebrating books or performances; it was about celebrating the connections that make life meaningful. It was about honoring the journey, with all its unexpected turns and beautiful surprises.

I'm sharing the clip of my performance not because it's flawless, but because it represents something I believe deeply: we should never let fear hold us back from our dreams. The magic isn't in the perfection—it's in the attempt, the vulnerability, the willingness to put yourself out there even when your voice shakes.

So here's to dreams—the ones we chase, the ones we realize, and especially the ones that surprise us along the way. And here's to the mysteries—those unexpected moments that remind us we're loved, we matter, and we're never truly alone on this journey.

This content is for educational and entertainment purposes and is not the same as therapy. If you need to talk to someone, go to PsychologyToday.com or one of the many online therapy platforms available and start treatment with a professional today!

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