Dream Out Loud: Address to the Gateway Academy Graduating Class of 2025
Hello and Congratulations, Gateway Academy Graduates!
I’m so honored to be here today, standing in front of some of the most creative, brilliant, and big-hearted students I’ve ever had the privilege to celebrate. I’ve seen and heard amazing things about the music, the minds, and the magic of Gateway Academy—and I just want to start by saying thank you. Thank you for welcoming me into your community today. I had the opportunity to tour and explore your campus. Wow! What an incredible hub for creating!
What I admire most about Gateway Academy—what truly makes it shine—is the supportive community that fosters brilliance in every way. Gateway shines the light of hope on our future, and every student here is a part of that light.
When I was asked to speak at your graduation, it felt like a moment of serendipity and alignment. Like the universe was quietly saying, “Yes. This is where you’re meant to be.” And I knew—I didn’t just want to be here. I needed to be here.
I want to talk to you about something that might sound a little unusual for a graduation speech—dreaming out loud. Because the truth is, some of the most important things in the world begin in silence. In imaginations. In drawings on the corners of homework pages, or made-up stories whispered to the stars. In places no one else sees—yet. I believe our dreams are sacred. They live in the soft, quiet corners of our minds. And the moment we speak them out loud? That’s the moment they begin to take shape in the world.
But dreaming out loud can be scary. Especially when you’re someone who feels and experiences the world a little differently, or deeply. Maybe our brains work in ways that others don’t always understand. Maybe our ideas feel too big or too weird or too out there sometimes. Maybe people have told us to ‘be realistic’, because they don’t see our vision. But I believe those ideas aren’t flaws—they’re signals. You’re wired for wonder.”
Let me tell you something: your inner world is beautiful—and it’s meant to be shared. And to quote a song I love—Ed Sheeran’s Celestial:
“We were made to be nothing more than this, Finding magic in all the smallest things, The way we notice, that’s what really matters.”
Isn’t that exactly what makes this community so powerful? The way you notice. The way you care. The way your presence makes meaning out of small moments. That’s not nothing. That is everything. That is your strength.
When I was younger, I lived in my imagination. I wasn’t always the loudest voice in the room, and sometimes I definitely was… but I was always building something—stories, characters, scenes. I didn’t know it back then, but I was already laying the foundation for my future. The things I kept close to my heart—my drawings, my daydreams, my stories—they were my way of understanding the world and myself.
I don’t remember the very first story I ever wrote, but I do remember stapling little books together in elementary school, writing and illustrating them myself. I wrote so much poetry as a little girl. I was always creating. Always dreaming.
And to this day, what lights me up most is the moment when a spark of an idea meets the page, and I get to alchemize it. To take something real, even something painful or confusing, and transform it into something meaningful. Something maybe even a little magical. If I could whisper one truth to my younger self—the little dreamer Dalea who doubted everything—it would be this: You can do it… even when it feels uncomfortable, scary, or too hard. You can ask for help. And no, little Dalea, you’re not an alien. You’re just wired a little differently. And that’s a gift, a strength.
And even now, with books on shelves and a movie being made, I still have moments of doubt. I still ask, “Am I good enough?” or “Do I belong here?” That feeling—that voice that tells you you’re not ready or not worthy—it shows up for everyone.
Imposter syndrome is part of the process. But here’s the secret: the presence of doubt doesn’t mean you’re not meant for something. It means you care deeply. It means you're daring to dream.
I was just at the Festival de Cannes the last two weeks—wandering the winding streets, talking about film, connecting with creators, and even attending a screening of The Phoenician Scheme, directed by Wes Anderson. It was full of beautiful moments—and also a lot of noise. Among the celebrations and excitement, I also felt sensory overwhelm. I had to navigate crowded rooms and internal sensitivities that don’t just disappear when you get somewhere “big.” But I showed up. I stretched. I asked for space when I needed it. And I kept dreaming.
And you know what? That’s part of the journey, too.
Being real with yourself isn’t a detour from your dream. It’s part of the path. Even if it means having a meltdown moment at the airport in Switzerland.
I never set out thinking I would become an author, let alone a filmmaker. But I had stories inside me that wouldn’t leave me alone until I gave them somewhere to live. I wrote my first book in 2020 while juggling life as a mom, with doubts still whispering in the background, but passion driving me forward. I didn’t wait for permission. I just started.
When I first began sharing The Christmas Witch with my son—and I saw his eyes light up—it was like the whole world paused. It was one of those rare, pure moments that reminded me: this is why I do this. To connect. To inspire. To make someone feel seen and delighted and curious all at once. That spark in his eyes reminded me that stories are how we pass the torch—how we show each other what's possible.
It’s not even about how big the audience is. Sometimes it’s about one heart lighting up in front of you, seeing and celebrating your vision in their own way. Eventually, I self-published that story. And then something unexpected happened—I found myself turning it into a movie, together with my mother, who is also my trusty business partner in all things.
Now let me tell you, writing a book and writing a screenplay are two very different experiences. But they both start the same way: with a blank canvas. When you’re writing a novel, you hold the paintbrush. It’s up to you to bring the vision to life for the reader—to choose the colors, the strokes, the mood. You create the world entirely from your own hand.
But when you write a screenplay, you still start with that same blank canvas—only this time, you have to leave more white space. You make room for other artists: the cast, the crew, the production team. Each of them brings their own paintbrush. Each of them adds to the picture. And together, you bring that vision to life as a team.
Our lives are canvases, too. Some days, we’re the only ones holding the brush. Other days, we’re using tools & collaborating with people who add colors we never imagined. Either way, it’s still our masterpiece. Ultimately, I believe that no matter what—whether you’re painting the picture alone or surrounded by fellow creators—you’re dreaming out loud. You’re taking something from inside your imagination and placing it into the tangible, physical world. And that, right there? That’s real magic.
I learned something unexpected while filming my first feature, Hashtag Blessed—which is kind of like It’s a Wonderful Life, but with a modern twist and an honest look at mental health struggles. I was so nervous to let go of the original script, but something magical happened when I allowed myself to pivot creatively, and hand out more of those paint brushes! We changed a scene location from a tree lot to a neighborhood tunnel of lights—and it brought joy not only to the cast and crew but the whole community. People in my hometown got involved. The production value soared. And most of all, it became more meaningful.
That experience taught me this: sometimes you have to shift the vision a little to let the dream come to life in a bigger, brighter way than you imagined. And in the end, the greatest reward wasn’t the awards the film won—but the people who came up to me after a screening and said, “Thank you… I’m going to call my sister,” or “Thank you… I’m finally going to start therapy.”
I always knew I was different, but didn’t grow up knowing much about autism or the word neurodivergent, or that it was how I experience the world. But looking back, I can see now that I was raised in a neurodivergent household. And today, I have a beautiful neurodivergent family of my own. We may not always fit into boxes easily. We feel things deeply. We might need more time, more space, tools, or we might do things in ways that look “different” from what’s expected. And honestly? That difference is often where the magic lives. In me. In you.
Still, I know how hard it can be. I know what it’s like to really struggle with asking for help—even when I need it most. I know how rejection can sting, especially when your heart is on the line. I’ve learned that it’s okay to feel hurt by rejection. Rejection is real, and it stings. But I’ve learned not to let the stormclouds be bigger than the stars I’m chasing.
To the graduates and students here today—if you hit a rough patch five years from now, I want you to remember this:
When the going gets tough, it’s time to get curious. Curiosity opens the door to creativity when everything else feels stuck. So if the road ahead feels unclear, don’t panic—get curious. Curiosity is the lantern that lights the next step.
And to the families, educators, and staff in this room—your graduates are destined to shine. They are here today because you believed in them, well before the rest of the world knew what they could do. I want to say thank you to my own parents, who supported my dreams even when they didn’t totally understand them. I am beyond grateful to have them here with me today.
But what I’ve come to believe with my whole heart is this: You are intuitive. You are imaginative. You are resilient. You are wired for wonder. And this world is better when people like you share what’s inside.
So here’s what I want you to take with you today, class of 2025: No matter what your dream looks like—whether it’s writing, building worlds, writing code, making music, creating art, filmmaking, helping others, or inventing something no one’s imagined yet—you deserve to dream out loud.
Your vision matters. Your voice matters. And even if your path isn’t linear—or if you need rest, redirection, or room to grow—keep going. Keep dreaming. Because every dream you bring to life… every story you share… every part of yourself you express in this world… is a brushstroke on the greatest canvas of all.
So paint boldly. Dream out loud. And never forget: You are wired for wonder.
Thank you all—and congratulations, Class of 2025! You did it!
🕯️ Wander into Amberlight and beyond—sign up for updates, secrets, and the occasional enchanted surprise.
