Paper Airplane

When We Forget the Beauty of Our Dreams

This reflection is for anyone who has ever buried a dream and felt its quiet pulse years later. We outgrow plans, not purpose. The heart remembers what the mind forgets, and sometimes, what we once let go of still calls us home.

“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”

— Eleanor Roosevelt

As children, we believe anything is possible. We imagine lives so bright and boundless that even the stars seem close enough to touch. But as we grow older, we start to forget. Reality teaches us to be careful, to lower our expectations, to be “practical.” The dreams that once felt alive within us slowly fade into the background.

I remember wanting to be the president of a country. I used to picture myself helping people, changing lives, ending poverty and corruption, creating systems that actually cared. But I wasn’t born in the country I live in. Legally, I could never run for office. When I learned that, something inside me went quiet. I told myself to grow up.

And yet, that dream still visits me sometimes. It sneaks into my thoughts when I least expect it. I’ll catch myself wondering what life might have looked like if it had been possible. What if, could have, should have. A private ache. A soft grief for a version of myself that never came true.

Then I had another dream: to become a doctor. A neurosurgeon, specifically. I was fascinated by the brain, by the intricate architecture of the human body. I wanted to save lives, to understand the fragility and strength that coexist within us. But life steered me elsewhere. It felt too impractical, too far, too hard. Still, a small part of me wonders about that path, the door that quietly closed while I wasn’t looking.

Maybe you have dreams like that, too. Ones you buried under the weight of responsibility, fear, or the simple need to survive. They may seem gone, but they are not. Dreams do not die easily. They wait, patient and silent, for the day you remember what they meant to you.

What I eventually realized is that the dream itself was never really about the title or the job. What mattered was the heart behind it. I wanted to make people’s lives better. That desire found another language through architecture. I may not be shaping a nation or healing the body, but I am still building places that hold people’s lives. Homes where they can rest, love, and belong.

Dreams evolve when we do. Their essence remains, even when their form changes. The dream of healing, of helping, and of creating can take a thousand shapes.

If you’ve let go of your dream, maybe it’s time to visit it again. Not to chase it the same way, but to ask what truth it carried for you. What was it trying to show you about who you are?

Believing in your dreams isn’t about chasing perfection. It’s about remembering that spark inside you, the one that wanted to make the world a little more beautiful.

The future truly does belong to those who believe. But belief is not a plan or a strategy. It is an act of courage, a quiet return to yourself.

So keep believing — not in how things must look, but in how they can feel. Not in who you were told to be, but in the person you still are underneath it all.