Your dream life might not save you, but it exists.

Last year, I shared a piece reflecting on why it’s unhealthy to tie yourself too firmly to goals or future expectations. I talked about how goal-setting often stems from a scarcity mindset. But this year, I’ve come to realize that avoiding bigger goals can also come from that same place. So, here’s my response to my past self.

You’re allowed to want more for yourself. You’re allowed to have your own values, desires, and goals… even if they don’t reflect your environment.

When I wrote that essay, I emphasized the importance of living in the moment. And I still believe that; our ability to find contentment starts with our ability to be present. I stand by everything I wrote, and sometimes I still need to hear it myself. But that doesn’t mean you can’t look forward to the future.

There were so many moments growing up when the thought of a “dream future” was the only thing that kept me going. It’s why I pushed myself academically and got through some of the hardest days. It was this delicate blend of escapism and reality: I imagined a future that felt far away, but with enough work, I could make it real. I let it consume me. In some ways, that dream made me desperate and kept me from cherishing what I already had. But over time, I’ve grown more grateful, more aware of the things I once took for granted.

Eventually, though, that imagined future started to feel childish—naïve, even. I began abandoning parts of myself just to keep the peace. I grew complacent with the idea that certain futures weren’t meant for people like me. So instead, I learned to find fulfillment in the mundane.

By the time I wrote that original essay, I had already developed a habit of keeping my hopes quiet out of fear that if I voiced them too boldly, they’d be taken away. I told myself it was safer not to dream big, not to want too much, not to express desires that clashed with my circumstances or my family’s expectations. It was easier to pretend I didn’t have those dreams at all.

But the truth is: closed mouths don’t get fed.

I kept my mouth closed for so long that I convinced myself I wasn’t hungry. But I’m starting to remember that I’ve always had an insatiable appetite for more. It’s a double-edged sword: let it run wild, and it consumes me. But ignore it, and I sell myself short. I’m learning how to find the balance.

I’m learning not to let my past seep into every future decision, not to let it shape how I show up in the world or for the people in my life. You’re allowed to have personal dreams, even when your life is messy. You’re allowed to share them, too.

Different environments bring out different versions of you. Lately, a version of me I thought I’d lost years ago has started to resurface. I spent so long in spaces where choices were made for me, I forgot what autonomy felt like. I ran on autopilot, burned out from chasing a future that never felt fully mine. But that past self never really left. I just convinced myself she had.

No, you don’t need a rigid five-year plan to feel peace. But you can have one to look forward to. You’re allowed to feel excited about life, and to share that excitement with others. Avoiding the future out of fear is just another version of a scarcity mentality. Just like clinging to every opportunity out of desperation is. I’ve done both. And both came from a place of not trusting there would be more for me, or that I could want it.

When I wrote that essay, I was genuinely content. I meant every word. I still had goals, and I worked hard with what I had. But life keeps moving, and it’s taking me further. Doors are opening, ones I never thought I had the right to desire, even if I had the potential. Sometimes, wanting more doesn’t come from a lack of fulfillment. It comes from the realization that you are capable of it. Or, at the very least, capable of trying to strive towards it.

My decision to study STEM wasn’t just about financial security. It was about honoring my interdisciplinary mind. I always knew art wasn’t the path for me, it stopped feeling meaningful when I started creating it for other people. Still, I used to position STEM as a safety net, especially for artists who wanted to fund their hobbies. But in the process, I downplayed a crucial part of career fulfillment: passion and values.

I assumed that by walking away from art, I was walking away from my passions. But what I’ve come to realize is that my passion has never been art itself; it’s been growth, connection, and creation. My values have always been rooted in learning, excellence, and entrepreneurship. And in many ways, I’ve been living those values all along. I never stopped making art. I still made content, wrote, painted, shared. That’s passion, too.

In many ways, I have incorporated passion, as well as logic, into my career path. The only question is to what extent? To what extent have I allowed myself to set goals, to strive for more, and to demand bigger opportunities? The truth is, I haven’t understood the scope my goals could take until recently, and I’m still learning to adjust accordingly. This doesn’t mean I need to be a billionaire or use a career title as a marker of external validation, but it does mean that I can want different opportunities than what I was conditioned to desire throughout my life.

Sometimes, I wonder who I would’ve become under different circumstances—if I’d been encouraged to dream boldly from the start. But I also know that the experiences I’ve had led me here. And now, those dreams don’t stem from fear or lack. They come from a deep responsibility to the younger version of me. The one who kept going, even when she didn’t know how it would all unfold.