I don’t have a dream.
(That first sentence was a lie concocted to get you to read this one. HA, tricked you!) I’ve actually had many dreams. The best one involved Orlando Bloom — Legolas form, obviously.
But as far as a life dream that outlines the ultimate version of myself? Nothing.
I have goals, of course. Small, conquerable goals. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to live in NYC. I wanted to marry George Clooney. (Some of my goals will need to be recalculated.)
Goals can be accomplished. You divide, work your ass off, and then conquer. Bit by bit, you slowly become a better, fuller version of yourself.
Dreams set you up for failure.
If my dream was to become an Award-winning journalist, then I’m clearly failing. Anything short of becoming that international news correspondent would equal the abandonment of my dream.
Dreams narrow your options. They force you to predict, then map out a linear path to your destiny. All roads in life should lead to that dream. No detours.
If journalism was my dream, being a copywriter at Macy’s wouldn’t have happened. Managing content at Sprinklr wouldn’t have followed suit. The last four years of my life would be irrelevant. There’s no way that’s true.
Life isn’t linear. Life moves and meanders, and then takes a hard right out of nowhere. Try to plan it out and it laughs in your face. Just ask every bumper sticker and misquoted Facebook status. Life doesn’t want to be mapped out.
So back to my first blasphemous sentence… adults shouldn’t dream.
Adults set goals. Sometimes, they leap over those goals. Other times, they fall short. They set new goals. They repeat. With each goal, they realize their potential and grow.
Adults don’t dream. They just do.