Living the Dream

How I went from incessant daydreaming about the future to embracing life when the future becomes the present. Musings on goal-setting, achievement, and gratitude.

I spent most of my childhood occupying other worlds. If I wasn’t immersing myself in a novel, I was lost in reverie. If I wasn’t daydreaming about ideal scenarios that seemed far out of reach, I was on social media platforms that heightened my sense of teenage angst (—cough, cough, Tumblr). Equally as prominent as these distractions were the feelings of wanting. Up until this point, I have been wanting for most of my life.

Some of us are more susceptible than others. As a child in a highly dysfunctional environment, I was often seeking out escapes beyond the physical realm. Always dreaming of something—and somewhere—better. I would get my fix in the pages of a novel, the intricate scenarios in my head, and on the Internet, where anonymity meant that I could exist as anything other than myself for a few moments.

As the years went on, I found new, seemingly healthier distractions. I remember being in the seventh grade, and talking with my teacher about potentially sitting for a specialized high school test. If I scored high enough, I’d be guaranteed admission to one of New York City’s top high schools. Studying took up most of my time. I’d go home, grab my prep book, and get to work. I’d sit at the dinner table and work at it. I went on vacation to my mother’s home country, and I was scribbling in my prep book.

With time, I’d make this a habit—finding lofty goals to latch onto. And while this practice brought great benefits, it did not always bring me much joy.

The day I received an offer to a specialized high school, I felt nothing. I tried my hardest to pretend. Told a close friend that I could cry, though I didn’t. Eventually, my plans of graduating from a top high school fell through, as the school I had been admitted to was a whopping three hours from home. I eventually transferred to a school closer to home, and worked to discover and pursue my next endeavor.

I was in the tenth grade when I decided on my dream school. It felt like home—or at least an ideal setting for a student like me. I could envision myself in the classrooms, and on the main green. I could see myself strengthening and contributing to a sense of community both on and off campus. I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else.

After talking to an admissions counselor about what the school had to offer, I got to work. The next year would be dedicated to perfecting my SAT/ACT scores, asking around for tips, and ensuring that my essays were near-perfect.

Considering my unflagging tenacity in this pursuit, the day I received an acceptance letter could not be anything but a joyous and relieving one. Unfortunately, the feelings of triumph were transitory.

I had everything I had dreamed of. Everything younger me would be happy to have, and yet, the happiness it brought was fleeting. What followed my admission to my dream school was a depressive episode that spanned the entirety of my winter break. I woke up and cried almost every day. The admissions offer was supposed to transform my life—and in retrospect, it did, but it took me quite a while to acknowledge the beauty of all that I had manifested for myself.

It took months of intensive therapy to not only lift the blinds that barred me from perceiving my life’s beauty, but to also unpack the unhealthy practices that brought me to this position in the first place.

Goal-setting is not an issue. Finding new projects to take on in search of something bigger than ourselves is a powerful practice. However, we do quite a disservice to ourselves when we delay our joy for when lofty accolades and accomplishments grant us permission. I am learning that the happiness I work to cultivate on a daily basis is much more significant than the idealized happiness I attach to my milestone moments.

I am also learning that while establishing better circumstances can detract from the unfavorable conditions from which we are running, the new circumstances cannot supplant former conditions if I do not face them on my own. In working, I am avoiding the most significant work of all—uprooting my former life for the new life to settle in.

I now sit with the knowledge that I can actualize my wildest dreams without neglecting the practices, attitudes, and habits that would enable me to live out these dreams, and my life is a lot better for it.