There are few things I like more than watching fireworks; from simple bottle rockets set off in my alley on the Fourth of July to impressive chrysanthemum sprays bursting over the lake during a choreographed display. I even love the colorless crackling or whirring sounds a shell will make as it travels up into the dark humid summer sky before the inevitable explosion.

The other evening, I was walking with some friends in Streeterville, an upscale neighborhood nestled between Oak Street Beach and the fancy stores along The Magnificent Mile. It was about 9:15 when we heard what sounded like gunfire. My girlfriend started running towards Lake Shore Drive, not worrying much about whether the rest of us planned on catching up any time soon.

“Fireworks!” she squealed.

When the rest of us did catch up to her on the corner of Superior and Lake Shore Drive, her eyes were transfixed on the sky. Her mouth was open and her feet were anchored to the sidewalk.

Although I am crazy about pyrotechnic displays myself, the first words out of my mouth seemed aimed at shutting down some of the wonder.

“They have fireworks over the Pier every Wednesday and Saturday nights during the summer. It’s mostly for tourists, I think.”

Immediately after making this comment, I had to ask myself, Why not on Wednesdays? Why should we only reserve such magic for holidays and special celebrations?

Then I felt compelled to let my friend of over forty years know that I knew what she was thinking. She’s been looking at making some big decisions and has been going through more than a little angst. I added a few words in a joking tone that I knew also summed up many hopes she had in her heart.

“It’s a sign. It’s a sign,” I repeated.

We all laughed.

Wouldn’t we all like to see a rainbow after meeting someone we see romantic potential with, or encounter no traffic after coming home from a job interview, or see someone gardening next door to a home we are considering buying?

Our first impulse might be to dismiss such reactions as self-indulgent or childish; as pie-in-the-sky wishes. Many of us — certainly this has been true of me — have gotten well-trained in tempering expectations of disappointment by not allowing ourselves to dream. I suppose that’s a little like listening to the sounds of fireworks and keeping our eyes closed while they light up the sky.

What’s wrong with believing in magic? What’s wrong with recognizing the value of our dreams? Maybe the message Why not Wednesdays? should be replaced with Why not me?

Even if a dream can’t be fulfilled exactly as you might envision it or cannot happen without some effort, letting yourself dream is a way to clarify what you want. I would rather spend my life moving towards something that uplifts me than give my energy to something just to avoid disappointment.

If fireworks, or a timely breeze, or having exact change feels like a good omen — why not appreciate the moment.

Feeling entitled to a dream, and to be encouraged that it is attainable, is no small thing.