Dreams

Someone very close to me recently shared a handmade poster with a quote by Paulo Coelho on it:

I stared at it longer than I expected to.

Because for me, having a dream come true has always felt like living in a fantasy. Unreal. Almost miraculous. As if something extraordinary had to happen for it to even be possible. So somewhere along the way, I stopped dreaming.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, more like quiet self-preservation. I let life, or the universe, decide what happened next. Personally, professionally, spiritually. It was safer that way. Safer not to want too much. Safer not to picture something beautiful and risk watching it crumble.

Having a vision used to terrify me. Because what if it didn’t happen? What if no matter how hard I tried, it all still fell apart? I couldn’t bear the thought of failing myself, let alone the shame of failing in my family’s eyes. So, I learned to live inside my head. In that world, everything worked out. It was peaceful there. Predictable. Dreams could unfold without fear of disappointment, because they weren’t real.

But the irony is when you stop dreaming to avoid pain, you also stop feeling alive. You mistake numbness for peace. You start mistaking control for safety.

I’m realizing now that dreams aren’t promises, they’re invitations. Not all of them come true, but each one teaches you something about who you are and what you’re capable of. Maybe Coelho was right. Maybe it’s not the dream coming true that makes life interesting, but the possibility—the movement, the hope, the pulse it gives to an otherwise monotonous existence.

Lately, I’ve also been thinking that maybe not having one dream isn’t such a bad thing after all. For the longest time, I felt guilty for not knowing what I wanted. I thought I was supposed to have that one big vision—the kind that gives your life direction and makes everything else fall into place. But what if that kind of singular focus also blinds you to everything else that’s waiting to unfold?

I used to think my uncertainty meant I was lost. But maybe I was just open.

Not having one fixed dream has allowed me to stay receptive to the unexpected, the unimaginable, the bigger and better things that I couldn’t have possibly planned for. Because when you attach yourself to just one outcome, you close the door on everything else the universe might be trying to send your way.

Imagination and possibility aren’t flaws. They’re freedom.

I’ve been in a kind of decision paralysis for almost two years now, unsure what direction to take professionally since leaving teaching. But when I look back, I don’t see wasted time. I see exploration. I see curiosity. I see faith.

I’ve dabbled across roles, industries, and identities. Some fit for a while; others didn’t. But all of them were necessary detours leading me closer to alignment, closer to my highest self.

So no, maybe I haven’t been wrong. Maybe I’ve just been patient.

I’ve always believed that whatever happens next will unfold in divine timing, in alignment with who I’m becoming. Maybe that’s what it means to dream differently—not by holding on tightly to one vision, but by trusting that the right one will find you when you’re ready to receive it.

Because sometimes, life isn’t about chasing the dream. It’s about becoming the person who can hold it.