Why Do Our Dreams Get Smaller As We Age?
In grade 8, my English teacher wrote in my yearbook: “Never doubt your greatness, as you are destined for this if you want it.”
At the time, touched though I was, I had been confused by the qualifier — why on earth wouldn’t I want greatness? I already had my life planned out: a cottage on every continent (two in Europe), a jet-ski, a private pool, a gazebo in a Narnia-esque backyard, five kids, an undefined but adoring husband, and a mansion in southern California. I wanted to win Oscars and touch millions with my words. For years, I was set on this success. I didn’t want to just be a face in the crowd, like so many mediocre adults around me. I wanted to leave my mark and live in textbooks for centuries after my death. It wasn’t as if I sat and waited for it to come to me either; I worked hard and I had passion. Fuelled by this image of success, my drive and ambition carried me straight into university.
It was at the start of my second year at the University of Toronto when I met up with the Editor-in-Chief of The Varsity to discuss an article, and she told me a similar thing: “I think you could have a great future here if you want it.” Again, I had immediately thought, “of course I do.” Becoming an editor at The Varsity had been the only goal I had going into first year. Why would I not choose success?
But, as it turned out, I didn’t. I continued to write, but I did not move up in the paper a single bit since that day. Instead, I found myself managing a cafe, becoming a Commuter Don, doing an independent study, and finally just toning it all back to make time for myself to relax in my final year.
When we are children, or at least, when I was a child, I looked upon fame, money, and glamour as the most desirable things in life. After all, they are the flashiest things that are always advertised and promoted in our world. It wasn’t that I didn’t value relationships or a family; I just took those everyday things for granted, and underestimated the effort that love — for yourself, for a partner, family, or friends — requires.
As I would learn, relationships, self-care, and success all continuously compete for our attention, and every choice we make requires sacrifice. Editing at The Varsity would have meant missing out on so many other wonderful experiences that I wouldn’t trade for the world. Recognizing this trade-off helped me to realize how, many times on the road to straight As or successful event-planning, I have sacrificed myself — in sleep, food, or time with loved ones. But, that is not a trade I am willing to make anymore.
I have no idea what I would even do now with seven houses on every continent, and a pool is so difficult to maintain. My dreams have certainly changed, but I no longer believe that they have grown smaller. Simply, my definition of greatness is different, because as we mature, we learn the meaning of price and sacrifice, and we all realize what we’re really not able to live without.