Dreams Aren't Just For Other People

I don’t know about you, but I was a dreamer when I was a kid. I had big dreams and big plans because that was the only kind I knew how to have. I lived huge because no one had told me yet I was supposed to be small.

But then someone told me dreams were for other people.
Changing the world was for other people.
Writing books was for other people.
Having wealth was for other people.
Traveling the globe was for other people.
Living as if anything was possible was for other people.
Who did I think I was?

The older I got, the smaller I became.

I learned not to talk so much.
To be quieter.
To take up less space.
To be practical.
To be acceptable.

I disappeared in to the life others created for me, a life that made *them* comfortable. I lived it, but it wasn’t mine.

I built walls around my dreams, my plans, my possibilities. I told myself I didn’t want them, that they were silly, that I was ridiculous, that it was selfish to want something for myself.

And still, a voice inside kept saying, “This isn’t it. You know this isn’t all there is. What are you DOING? This is not your life.” I tried to make the walls higher to block it out, but unlike me the voice wouldn’t stop talking.

So I decided to join it.
I stopped apologizing.
I stopped pretending.
I stopped silencing myself.
I stopped asking permission.

I let the joy back in.

Dismantling the walls brick by brick has changed everything.

One of my favorite poems is “Mending Wall,” by Robert Frost: “Before I built a wall I’d ask to know / What I was walling in or walling out.”

What are your walls protecting?
What’s on the other side?

What will you create when you reclaim all your fucks?

Let’s find out together.

Apply here to start your transformation journey.

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https://fckyeahpod.buzzsprout.com