Everyone’s dreams should be shattered once in awhile.
You want something. You want it bad. Loved ones and routine life be damned. You’d stop at nothing to nourish your heart’s deepest pipe dream. You’ve yearned for this for ages; everyone knows of your hopeless infatuation. Are you ready now? Your future life is a heartbeat away. You can touch it. It’s palpable. Breathe it in. It’s finally here!
Now rip your dream to shreds. Break it down, and in turn, destroy the vision you’ve built in your head. Pick at its knots. Fray the string. It’s unraveling now. Make your dream look like earbuds after one hour inside a purse (straight FUBAR status). This will help you succeed.
Life is no dream. Real life is turbulent and filled with riptides. Unbridled optimism can carry you extraordinary lengths, but being honest about your highest hopes is powerful too. I think to sustainably realize our passions, we must abandon the idea of a “dream” in pursuit of something more honest and realistic. Let me show you how I’m doing this.
Step 1: Destroying the dream
I’ve been a Francophile since age 14. It’s a part of my personal narrative that I commonly share with new people. My first trip to Paris finally came in September 2014 — my fourth city on a 3-week solo trip through Europe. I met someone wonderful in Amsterdam and he ended up accompanying me through the first three days in sweet Paris. It was pure, unadulterated bliss. My childhood dreams were coming true, my French skills returned to me after a few bottles of wine, and I wasn’t alone! “I could live here,” I thought to myself, “I’m five days in and it already feels like Home.”
But that wasn’t exactly true. Last week, I wrote about the asshole winemaker I spent 2.5 weeks working for outside Montpellier. He was exactly the person I was running away from in San Francisco. Funny how that works. Before I left, they generously hosted an “End of Harvest” dinner party. This elaborate 4-course spread lasted 6 hours! The table was teeming with artisan cheeses, barbecued oysters, mint tzatziki, roasted peppers, hearty breads, baked Camembert, smoked salmon, homemade panna cotta and chocolate mousse, and three magnums of fine wines and Champagne. Truly, it was unreal. But does that meal excuse this man from being a total dick to us, every day, for almost three weeks? Does that make it okay? This man singlehandedly obliterated my lifelong French fantasy, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Finally, I could see France in its honest form.
Step 2: Recalibrating in Aix-En-Provence
On October 1st, I caught a ride to my next city —the beloved hometown of post-Impressionist painter Paul Cézanne — famous for its rolling lavender fields, vibrant open markets, medieval architecture, and the limestone majesty of Montagne Sainte Victoire. The city center is rich with color and golden sunlight, and the air is calm.
At first, I was still stressing inside. My eye twitch was lingering and I couldn’t shake the anxiety I felt around the asshole winemaker. So, like any respectable broke solo traveler, I walked. I hiked through City Center, got lost in the alleyways, visited free museums, and spent hours people-watching in solitude. My favorite part was visiting the painting studio of Cézanne, a favorite of my father, and seeing tons of his original belongings right before my eyes. By end of day, I had walked 10 miles and barely spoken a word.
Step 3: Be quiet and listen to yourself
Then it happened. I began to feel my dream become more malleable. More realistic. More digestible. I began to read the city through a new language, one more inclusive of life’s unpleasantries. I realize, now, how critical this step is to sustainably unlocking dreams. We must accept the uncomfortable realities of our dreams in order to make them come true.
It was then that my fresh bout of FOMO for not partying enough or meeting new people began to fade. I finally settled into the crevices of everyday life in Aix-En-Provence. I calmed down. I stopped being critical of my trip through a lens of “wanderlust vacation” and opened my awareness to my ability to live here. How confident am I in navigating the streets? Not gonna lie — pretty good. How honest was I being about my ability to speak French with locals? Holy shit, I am an idiot. I probably think I can speak Arabic when I’m drunk too, but that doesn’t mean anyone can understand me. I realized I have a lot of work to do if I want to really live here. How do I feel after spending this much time alone? Because, in reality, if I moved to Paris, my focus would be stabilizing my life and grounding myself in a new culture and career on the other side of the world. Part of that would be social, but not all of it.
Now, my dream is blooming. When I return to San Francisco, I’m excited to explore a multitude of personal interests and passions. More specifically, I wanna see how they intersect. I want to enroll in another French course. I want to cook more. I want to take the life lessons I’ve acquired from my first month in France and apply them to the familiar template of my first stab at adulthood in SF. I want to cook more. I want to find authentic engagement with life in the big, sloppy pot of life I’ve already started cooking at home. Because, of course, wherever you go, there you are. For me, this is not abandoning my dream of living in Paris; I’m enhancing my inevitable experience and better preparing myself for sustainable success.
So, until next time. Leaving for Marseille in 5 minutes and I’m now seeing thunder & lightning outside my window. That’s life though! Ciao and love.
