As children, we were often asked this question, and our responses came without hesitation:
"A doctor! An astronaut! A dinosaur!" Of course, becoming a dinosaur seems silly, but as children, our imaginations knew no bounds. We were uninhibited, unrestricted by the realities of the world.
At some point, this question stopped being asked explicitly. Instead, it took on different forms as we transitioned through various stages of life:
Children: What do you want to be when you grow up?
Teenagers: Have you thought about what you'll study in college?
Adults: What do you do for work?
Why do we ask these questions?One might assume that these questions arise from a place of genuine curiosity, an opportunity to explore the myriad paths and destinations life has to offer. Unfortunately, the reality may be less optimistic. Often, these questions are posed as a means of cautionary tales for dreamers.
"A painter? Let me tell you a story about a starving artist."
"A dancer? Let me introduce you to the real world."
"A musician? Why not try something more practical?"
As we respect the wisdom of our elders, their words carry significant weight. Over time, we drift away from our true desires, succumbing to the limitations imposed upon us. Some may still hear the faint whispers of their younger selves, but many either silence that voice or never knew it at all.
What about those who knew and never let go of what they wanted to be?For better or worse, I knew the answer to this question since I was 9 years old.
Here's the downside of knowing what you want to be when you grow up. It presents itself as a dream, transforms into a title, and evolves into an endless pursuit consumed by the determination to catch up with yourself.
Your dreams and ambitions have manifested into an unattainable self: its career, surroundings, friends and family, free time, diet, routine, and hobbies. You've seen this version of yourself for years, always within sight, but never quite within reach.
Naturally, you walk towards it, yet it appears no closer. You quicken your pace, but the distance remains unchanged. Desperate, you run, you sprint, but the gap persists. As your determination intensifies, so does theirs.
I've noticed a subtle difference. While I constantly look up to gauge my proximity, it's never looked back.
I risk becoming a mere shadow, forever trailing behind the ideal version of myself, always trying to catch up. Perhaps if I stop glancing upwards and focus on my own progress, those precious seconds will make all the difference.