A 6-minute read

When I was ten, I was absolutely certain I was going to be a world-renowned doctor. Not just any doctor, mind you, but one who would cure diseases, open clinics across Africa, and give speeches at the United Nations. Oh, and I’d practice my Nobel Prize acceptance speeches in front of my mirror. (Spoiler: I still do this sometimes, but with less “youthful naïveté” and more “let’s survive adulthood.”)

At twenty-three, my browser history tells a different story: “entry-level positions that pay well,” “how to negotiate starting salary,” “affordable rent near business district.” I catch myself saying things like “that’s not practical” and “let’s be realistic.” When did the child who dreamed of healing nations become this cautious adult who mostly just wants to pay rent on time?

Remember the limitless potential we all felt as children? The renowned surgeons, astronaut dreams, the rock star ambitions, the certainty that we’d change the world? There was a time when “impossible” wasn’t in our vocabulary.

Then… something happened. For me, it was somewhere between the overwhelming stress of my first premed class and watching my more “practical” friends land comfortable jobs while I was still figuring things out. The subtle shift began: from “I’ll do anything” to “I should do something sensible.”

There’s a certain safety in settling, isn’t there? The first “real” job I got was nothing like the neurosurgeon dream I had. It wasn’t glamorous, and it definitely didn’t involve saving lives or curing cancer. But it did have a paycheck and stability. The job was there, the benefits were there, and heck, even the microwave in the break room was a guaranteed luxury. But at night, I found myself scrolling through Instagram, wondering if I was really settling down, or if it was just my social media algorithm pulling me into an existential crisis.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do I catch myself saying “maybe someday” when I’m really just thinking “probably never”?

The Math of Dreams

Perhaps the most painful part of growing up is learning to calculate risk. As a child, jumping from the highest point of the playground was exhilarating – the possibility of falling just added to the thrill. Now, every decision comes with a mental spreadsheet: potential benefit versus potential loss, immediate reward versus long-term security.

I look at friends who took the safe route – steady jobs, relationship milestones right on schedule, savings accounts growing predictably – and I envy their certainty. Then I look at the few who chased wild dreams – some thriving in unlikely careers, others still struggling but with fire in their eyes – and I envy their courage.

It’s a balancing act, isn’t it? Where does that leave me, at this crossroads of youthful ambition and adult practicality? Still longing for a taste of that dream, but hesitant to leap?

What I think we should do…

What if we’ve created a false dichotomy? What if the choice isn’t between “giving up” on our dreams or recklessly pursuing them?

I recently met a woman who found a middle ground. She works a conventional 9-to-5 job that pays the bills, but she dedicates evenings, weekends, and part of her income to pursuing her dream, one small step at a time. “Growing up doesn’t mean giving up,” she told me. “It means being strategic about how you nurture what matters most.”

I’ve been turning her words over in my mind. Perhaps adulthood isn’t where dreams die—it’s where we learn that dreams require more than wishing. They require planning, persistence, and sometimes patience.

The Next Chapter

Let’s be real: I still haven’t figured it all out. There are days when I’m grateful for the stability that comes with “adulting” (like paying rent without needing a loan from the bank of mom and dad). Then there are nights when I lie awake wondering if I’ve betrayed the 10-year-old version of me who was convinced she would be a doctor saving the world. But I’m starting to get it—this tension, this back-and-forth between security and dreams—it’s part of what it means to grow up. To balance both.

Maybe the question isn’t whether to abandon dreams or chase them recklessly. Maybe it’s about finding the courage to reimagine them in ways that honor both our adult wisdom and our childhood imagination.

So I’m making a new promise to myself: I won’t settle completely, but I also won’t leap without looking. I’ll keep one foot on stable ground while allowing the other to explore uncharted territory. And perhaps, in that delicate balance, I’ll discover a new kind of dream – one that embraces reality without surrendering possibility.