Member-only story
What Happened to the Boy Who Dreamed
Losing childhood dreams and finding purpose
There are days I move through life almost on autopilot. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Clean the house. Take care of the kids. Go to bed. And somewhere in between the chaos and the quiet, I start to wonder — Is this it? Is this what life is supposed to be?
Each day feels different, but somehow, the same, and in the stillness, when the noise fades and no one’s watching, the questions creep in. How did I get here? Who am I now? Why did I make the choices I made? What happened to the dreams I once carried like sacred fire?
We grow up hearing we can be anything we want to be. The world feels endless, glittering with possibility. Then reality sets in — like a slow, unrelenting tide. Dreams don’t always pay the bills. Passion doesn’t always keep the lights on, and slowly, without even noticing, we trade wonder for survival.
I look back and wonder: What happened to that boy who believed anything was possible? Where did he go?
He didn’t disappear. He adapted. He learned that sometimes dreaming is a luxury you can’t afford when you’re just trying to survive. You find yourself chasing smaller things — a paycheck, a safe place, a moment of peace — because dreaming too big starts to feel dangerous. Painful.
