Finding Courage to Redeem Your Dreams
Words by Salma Elbarmawi
It often feels like a game when you're younger. A playful one with no wrong answers. No matter how many times they'd ask you-- no matter how often you'd change your mind, you'd come across as endearing.
The anxiety of your answer didn't block your throat the way it does now. Your stomach didn't turn into suffocating knots the way it did the last time they stopped you to inquire. Your mind didn't start to wander in search of the right words, the perfect response, the way it always seems to now when they ask what you want to be.
The expectation that anyone can be certain of their destiny seems absurd. The notion that your dreams must be fierce and somehow tangible and realistic is confusing. The idea that one day we woke up and the answer "famous painter" was no longer acceptable seems unfair.
Do you even remember?
Do you remember what it was like to want for something that felt so out of reach to everyone but yourself? Do you remember what it was like to have dreams that were limitless and profound? That made you excited to wake up. Do you remember the moment you were forced to make a choice? A choice between a life with a distinct and carefully paved path- - and a life that would be filled with excitement but riddled with doubters and uncertainty.
For me, I think it began to waver in my second year of high school. My answer was vague but crafted in such a way that it sounded achievable. When people asked, I told them I wanted to be a lawyer, though I had an undying love for acting. I told them I wanted to battle in court. Warming my parents' hearts as they reminded everyone of how I loved to argue - though they had seen my dedication to practicing monologues in the mirror.
I listed a set of credentials for them, as if they were the ones who would determine my fate. Bragging about my involvement with Model UN and dropping a subtle reminder of my mock trials. Though truthfully, my most monumental achievement was my acceptance into the film association.
Later my dreams would evolve. Neither involving the courtroom nor motion pictures.
They would flutter between brazen politician and Pulitzer Prize-winning writer. The “how” and the ”why” would become exhausting. The index folders I would be handed of people who had failed would begin to feel all too real.
Until one day, the dream faded away, landing softly instead on "marketing executive." Simplified and realistic, as to ensure my success. Classified by job title rather than achievements - easily answering the question of what I'd become, rather than who. Its practicality was praised. Never challenged by the odds or probability. I was nudged to work hard; assured I’d fulfill the goal that was now masking my dreams.
And so I went on living a life I partially wanted and partially had no desire to continue. I dedicated myself to something that was feasible, rather than testing the waters in something I hoped would prove to be my purpose.
I continued on with validation from friends and strangers. Convincing myself that I was on the right path. Falsely pretending I was making the right decision, only to find I was losing myself in what everyone else wanted for me. But when you've dedicated your life to a craft, regardless of your heart's investment, it becomes hard to decipher if you hate it because of the hours you've lost, or if you love it because of how proficient you've become in your practice.
I lost the fire I had for life because I couldn't find fulfillment in the work that was burning it out.
I became preoccupied with the highlight reels of others, if only to relinquish the responsibility I had to myself. And as I became engrossed in the lives of people living their dreams, I thought, 'Why not me?' And as I spent my days building someone else's passion, I sobbed, 'Why not mine?' And it took every painful tear to realize my successes and failures were unmistakably my own. It took the loss of life to remember how many unfinished books are buried in graveyards. How many unmade arts are indefinitely suspended in cemeteries.
It took every building block of my fear of losing time to create the courage to redeem dreams that had once been mine. And so I gambled on my destiny the way children gamble with their answers. I gave myself the permission to start over, though everyone around me verbalized their doubts. I made a choice to change my direction because I couldn't remember if I had even made a conscious choice about my future.
And I made a decision to leave the comfort of the choices I was told were realistic, just to explore the possibilities of a future that could lend to my dreams. For me, it was a steady paycheck that I'd replaced with a one-way ticket. It was pages of experience I rearranged, in hopes of creating truth for my passions. It was humbly starting over though I had been closer to prosperity in my old life. Because great dreams aren't fulfilled by realism, and purpose isn't discovered under the umbrella of someone else's destiny.
Turns out, redeeming your dreams is surmounting uncertainty, and accomplishing them depends on your willingness to get up when you fail.
** Editor’s Note: This essay first appeared in Issue 19 of Holl & Lane Magazine. **
