When Did We Become So Practical?

Letters on identity, living well, and finding your way back.

This week has been a bit of a mixed bag (again). My son finished school earlier than planned because of the fire, and now he’s going back later than planned too. Not too much of an upheaval, but the change in dates still requires some planning.

I was working until Tuesday, did a kids swap with my mum on Wednesday, so my son could hang out with his mate, and then Thursday it was just the kids and me.

My daughter woke up at 6 am. This is fine; I’m planning on waking up at 5 am this holiday as a personal goal to squeeze in some quiet and exercise time for myself as a routine. When she wakes, though, she is ON. There isn’t a moment to think or breathe. Her demands are at the ready, and she’s relentless — a quality I will admire when she’s older, but right now, I could do without it.

The day unfolded painfully from the start. I went from trying to rest with period cramps and straight into what everyone wanted to eat, through to entertaining them for the day.

I was tired.

Whilst my school job is not demanding, the term-time routine is and in hindsight, I think I needed a day to get my bearings before being catapulted into the summer holidays. I have now noted this in the 2027 calendar: I need a day to myself to orient into the summer holidays.

What this very mundane revelation has shown me is that I desperately need deep rest.

But what is deep rest?

All I want to do is run away for a week and stay somewhere super remote and cater to my needs only. Oh, the things I’d do! It fills me with so much joy just thinking about it. I don’t hate my family at all; I’d just like some time for myself without any interruptions — is that really too much to ask for?

I guess it is in a way. Being accountable or responsible for others pulls at the guilt of duty, and we quite inevitably keep pushing ourselves to the bottom of the invisible list.

Not a new story for many of us.

Whilst the kids were on the swings in the park on Thursday, I started to let myself imagine this glorious week away from everyone. I fantasised about things like:

• Waking in silence (maybe some birds chirping or the odd plane overhead)

• Walking into the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower without being shouted at that someone needs the toilet/ is hungry/ wants to play/ hates everyone (my 10-year-old has started his emotional journey to his pre-teens!)

• Quietly making a delicious vat of coffee and, get this, drinking it all up whilst it’s still steaming hot and maybe even having another cup!

• Sitting outside, just staring into a vast wood — for some reason my current fantasy of escape is a forest of some sort (usually I’d go for a beach and the sea)

• Pottering. Simple, no agenda pottering.

• Being bored and looking for things to do like reading! Drawing! Listening to music!

• Listening to a podcast! Watching something! All uninterrupted.

I smiled and was then brought quickly back to reality with “mummy push me higher! Push me faster!”

Thursday was jarring. The day just seemed uphill every way I turned. My daughter’s screams and mummy mummy’s were infuriating me, and my son’s very non-teamplayer attitude was grating on me. There was no escape. At one point I thought maybe I shouldn’t have had children. I can’t even survive a simple day with the two of them. I was so irritable, so unhappy, so angry and frustrated.

Before my husband came home from work, I texted to say that I’d had a day and that when he got home, he was responsible for playing with them, and doing bedtime.

He did. I was relieved and grateful.

When the children were in bed, I cried. I knew it was exhaustion mixed with the guilt of feeling that I’d been a crap mum that day, and I just allowed myself to wallow for a bit. The release was good.

By morning, I had managed to process what was going on with me and realised that I needed to rest. Deeply.

I wasn’t aware how much I had been carrying this year and how much of my life was still so uncertain and off track (according to my life schedule). The weight of everything has just been pushing me further and further into exhaustion.

What helped me realise I was feeling this way was that little daydream by the swings. I hadn’t had one of those for such a long time. I thought about it for a while.

When did I stop dreaming?

I used to go to bed visualising my dream life. We’d be in Spain, there would be warmth, laughter, normal home life, but most notably, this dream felt light. There was always an air of floating about it. It was a feeling I was craving — although the villa was always lush to dream about too, with views for days, a pool and blue skies. I’d be wearing a white flowy dress and flip-flops every time I dreamt this vision. That’s how I saw myself. Last year I bought two white dresses to see if I could emulate the feeling of this vision/ dream in everyday life here — not quite there yet.

The next morning was calmer; my husband was working from home, and I felt supported with the morning madness. I was more ready for the family than the day before, and I had a simple day planned with them.

Whilst drinking my coffee, I pondered the question, “When did I stop dreaming?” I realised that for most of this year, I’ve been so focused on getting ahead that I left myself and the purpose of all of this behind by not visiting my dream life.

I remember from my one-on-one work with clients that whenever I asked the question “what do you want?” clients would always shed a tear or two. The magnitude of that simple question overwhelms so many of us that it made me wonder why we stop dreaming.

My Vedic horoscope says that I’m a dreamer, which makes me question whether I’m dreaming a realistic dream or an unattainable one.

As I write that, my chest tightens. I don’t want to believe that my dream life is unobtainable. I can’t. Even if the dream changes and the timeline shifts, I still want to feel the way I feel in those visions. I still want us to have that. I want to have that.

With my life unfolding in a way that I hadn’t foreseen in my 20s or 30s, it’s easy to succumb to the idea that my dreams are literally just that, dreams.

It’s even easier for us to accept the lives we have now as absolute because it’s a) easier, b) less pressure, c) a pattern that we’ve seen repeat with others.

But I don’t want that, and I’m sure many of you don’t either.

So what do we do? How can we dream and still allow those dreams to shape the lives we inhabit now? And is that the goal? Should we dream? And when did we stop dreaming?

I love this thinking from Vedic philosophy. It helps anchor me into reality without taking away the fundamental right we have to dream.

There’s a concept called sankalpa. It’s often translated as an intention, but that doesn’t quite capture it. I’ve always understood it more as the quiet truth of who we’re becoming. Less of a goal to chase and more of an inner knowing that gently pulls us towards the life that’s right for us.

That makes me wonder whether our dreams aren’t really about the details at all.

Maybe Spain was never just about Spain.
Maybe Spain became the language my mind used to describe how I wanted to feel.

Light.
Spacious.
Unhurried.
Free.

The white dress isn’t really about the dress.
It’s about feeling like I’ve finally exhaled.

The villa isn’t really about the villa.
It’s about waking up and feeling that life fits.

Maybe that’s what our dreams are trying to tell us.
Not necessarily where we’re going, but how our soul longs to live.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so important that we keep dreaming, even if the picture changes over time.

The dream itself isn’t a promise that life will unfold exactly as we’ve imagined it. It’s a reminder not to lose sight of the feeling we’re quietly moving towards.

One cautionary thought I want to leave you with today is this: notice when you may have stopped dreaming. Think about what was happening around you. Perhaps your practical thinking has stopped you from having impractical thoughts because they seem pointless compared with your daily life’s demands?

Consider what having a dream gives you emotionally. What does it feel like? How does your physical body respond when you dream? And do you feel different or behave differently if you allow yourself those unfiltered gorgeous dreams of yours?

I really want my dream to become my reality, but as the years pass, I understand that the dream itself may simply be a manifestation of how I want to feel. I can tell you, I don’t feel flowy, or light or in control of my life at this precise moment.

Hanging on to that dream, though, allows me to remember, even if just for a moment, that what I want is achievable so long as I’m willing to walk through life without fixating on achieving it.

And maybe if I allow myself the opportunity to keep dreaming, those difficult days with the children will stop being so difficult. Maybe I’ll enjoy being pulled into their day because I chose them to be in my life. Maybe I’ll be softer, calmer, gentler to myself and to them. Maybe I’ll sit on the swing too and lift myself higher and faster just for the thrill and the giggles.

Some dreams don’t disappear.
Sometimes, we simply stop believing they’re meant for us.

And maybe our dreams aren’t there to predict our future.
Maybe they’re there to help us remember ourselves.

With love,

I'm Puja McClymont, a wellbeing educator, speaker, and author helping people build their lives around wellbeing because everything else depends on it.

Through speaking, restorative wellbeing sessions and 1:1 support, I help people reconnect with themselves to create lives that feel more fulfilling and sustainable.

You can find out more or work with me at pujamcclymont.com

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