There is a moment that sneaks up on you.
The moment you realize your dreams are just that, dreams. They are not going to come true, at least not in the way you pictured. It is not loud, not some dramatic crash. It is quieter, slower. Like standing still while the world tilts, and suddenly everything you believed feels just out of reach.
It sucks. It is heavy. It hurts in ways you did not know you could hurt.
The tears do not fall the same way they used to. These ones sting. They ache with sadness, but there is also a strange sense of acceptance tied to them. A dull throb in your chest that whispers it is time to let go, even though letting go feels like betrayal.
And in that ache, the question surfaces: is this where the kid in you dies?
The kid who dreamed without limits. The kid who believed passion alone could crack open the universe. The kid who thought hard work always meant reward. The kid who saw the future as a wide-open road.
Growing up does not always look like progress. Sometimes it looks like grief. You grieve the version of yourself who believed things would turn out differently. You grieve the dream itself. And then you stand there, empty-handed, wondering what is left.
But maybe that is where growth begins. In the quiet death of one version of yourself, another slowly takes root. One who learns how to keep going without the dream that once carried them. One who discovers life is less about chasing one shining thing and more about surviving, stumbling, and finding joy in unexpected places.
Dreams do not always make it. But you do.
And maybe that is enough.
uncommonsight 