Between Dreams and Bills: Teaching My Children To Dream Big
As I sit before my desk, a looming pile of unpaid bills casts shadows across the surface.
The room is silent, save for the soft sound of my breath and the distant hum of the world outside.
In this moment of solitude, my twelve-year-old son appears at the doorway, a silent question in his eyes.
“Are you busy, Dad?” My instinct is to shield him from my worries, so I shake my head, a gesture of reassurance more to myself than to him.
“Can we talk for a while?”
“No, son. I’m working,” I respond, my voice a mix of regret and necessity. Yet, he remains, unwavering, his presence a quiet reminder of the world beyond my concerns.
“Will you come for a short walk on the terrace?” he asks, his voice hopeful.
Reluctantly, I rise, following him.
Each step is a question, a reflection on what conversations might unfold under the vast expanse of sky.
As we walk side by side, he breaks the silence. “Are you thinking about going back to your old job?”
I pause, the weight of his question anchoring me to the spot. My heart races as I confront the reality of my situation.
A year ago, I stepped away from the security of my job to chase a dream fueled by passion. Despite gaining recognition in my new field, financial success has eluded me.
Doubts creep in, whispering of a return to the predictable comfort of a salaried position. Yet, such thoughts lead only to an uncertain darkness that looms just a few months away.
“No, son,” I finally reply, my voice a mix of defiance and hope.
His response is simple yet profound. “Great, Dad. Hang in there. You’ll make it. Big challenges are for big people, and you’re a big man.”
His words, meant to inspire, almost drew a laugh from me.
But I manage a grateful, “Thank you,” as he turns away, his attention returning to the digital world of his PlayStation.
In that moment, clarity strikes like a bolt of lightning.
The thought of giving up now horrifies me.
The consequences of my failure would ripple far beyond my own disappointment, setting a precedent of fear and resignation for my children.
I imagine future family gatherings where my journey is recounted not as a tale of courage, but as a cautionary tale against daring to dream.
No, I cannot let that be my legacy.
I am compelled to forge ahead, to prove not only to my family but to myself what I am truly made of.
Is it glass, brittle and fragile, or steel, resilient and strong?
More importantly, it will be a breaking of a promise- A promise I made to myself before I took this decision.
I need to hold myself accountable for my promise.
This journey is not just about financial success; it’s a test of character, a battle between the warrior and the coward within.
Earl Nightingale’s words echo in my mind,
“There are two types of people in this world- goal-driven people and ‘river people”
So I refuse to be a mere leaf in the river, subject to the whims of the current.
I choose to be goal-driven, to navigate the treacherous waters with purpose and resolve.
In the end, it’s not just about the destination but the legacy we leave behind.
What about you, dear friend? Which path will you choose?
When doubts strike, write a letter to your future self just like what I am doing.
Thank you for reading.
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