Big dreamer, I was. At five years old, I knew I would be the next Janet Jackson. At age eight, the black female Mozart. Ten, CEO of a Fortune 500 company. HBIC; changing the world one employee at a time. Twelve, Lil Bow Wow’s back up dancer/love interest/girlfriend/wife (I practiced my Harlem Shake PROFUSELY). But somewhere between puberty and getting dumped by my first boyfriend, reality set in. I knew things wouldn’t be as easy to accomplish as I had thought. I would actually have to put effort into becoming the person I had imagined for my future. My dreams had to meet plans and those plans had to meet actions. But I cringed at the thought of acting on something, failing, then working up enough courage to do it all over again. So I took the easy (read: hard, stupid, naïve) route and stopped dreaming altogether.
Whew, that was close! I almost took a risk to achieve something that was once just a figment of my imagination. A figment I belittled until it no longer logically made sense for me to pursue; although my young mind once saw it feasible and “only right” to do. I dodged a bullet right? WRONG. Not only did I shoot the bullet, I allowed it to ravage every piece of my existence; every fiber of my being. I practically murdered my future and planned an escape route via 9 am to 5 pm, $12 an hour dead end jobs; so afraid of failing that I lowered myself, my standards to do as little as possible to advance my career. So bound by the thought of living life and making mistakes that I entertained just being “good enough” to save myself the drama of being successful. So envious of others building their empires, yet never asking myself why my dynasty was falling apart before the foundation had even been laid. Delirious.
Reality is, when I stopped dreaming my life became a nightmare. I was unhappy in everything I did. Every job I had. Every business/entrepreneurship college course I took. I questioned why I was even studying business and almost changed my major to psychology (blank stare). I went insane trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. I cried. Partied. Burned a bra (I went through a women’s studies, feminist phase). Nothing. All the while, in the back of my mind, I knew I wanted a career and not a job. I wanted to change people’s lives. Build an ethical business doing what I loved. Yet there I was, working for “the man”, molding his ideas and building his brand; losing a grip on my dreams while the reality of my actions made itself more and more prevalent throughout my sad little life. Then FINALLY, it hit me. I realized I was never meant to NOT dream in the first place. In fact, I needed to dream bigger (and a little more realistically, if that makes sense. No? Whatever). I saw that the minute I began to think my dreams and aspirations were too big, unattainable even, was the very minute I began to fail; which is what I was trying to avoid altogether in the first place. Crazy right? So there it was, a little Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, self actualization action. BOOM! Lesson learned…. Don’t be me. Dream big. Make a plan. Then set it in motion.
Photo Cred: Blog.glion.edu
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