📰 June 6, 2026 — 8:53 a.m.
Sitting in the garage.
The vacuum is running while I write.
I actually enjoy the sound.
It drowns out the noise outside the door.
For a little while, it feels like I get to disappear.
Just me and my thoughts.
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I’ve always heard:
“Stop dreaming.”
“Be realistic.”
“Plant your feet on the ground.”
Being realistic is something I’ve thought about for a long time.
And I always seem to arrive at the same place.
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If you live inside what is considered realistic, you’ll probably have a good life.
A traditional life.
A safe life.
And for some people, that might be exactly the right path.
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But then I think about history.
How many people lived before me?
How many stories happened before I arrived?
How many people loved, struggled, created, failed, and disappeared?
I wasn’t there.
Now I’m here.
And one day more history will happen.
And I won’t be here again.
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That’s a strange thought.
Not depressing.
Just strange.
Because it makes me ask a different question.
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If one day I’ll be forgotten anyway, why should I spend all my time being careful?
Why should fear get the final vote?
Why should possibility always lose to practicality?
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I don’t know.
Maybe that’s why I went back to school.
Maybe that’s why I started writing.
Maybe that’s why I keep drawing.
Maybe that’s why I keep trying to improve.
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Not because success is guaranteed.
Not because I know how the story ends.
Because I want to find out.
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One day I’ll be another face in history.
A man with no name.
Just like countless others before me.
But between now and then, I still get to choose what I do with the time I’ve been given.
And for me, that’s reason enough to keep dreaming.
💬 Reader Question
Do you think being realistic protects people, or do you think it sometimes keeps them from discovering what’s possible?
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