I was scrolling through my Facebook timeline when I saw a post about short films. It was an unassuming article, and I had read similar pieces about the same topic before, but this one hit a sore spot — one I didn’t know still existed.
As a kid, when I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d shout, “I want to become a doctor!” without really knowing what that meant. As years went by, that answer gradually changed and evolved — from wanting to become a doctor who wanted to serve the poor and the sick to a politician, because the slogans said they are “pro poor,” and I really thought that was true. As I got older, my dreams shifted from helping others to trying to uplift my self-esteem.
I wanted to become a model, an actress, a scientist, an agriculturist, a lawyer. Every ambition I had, anything that sparked my interest, was cool, I thought. I wanted to do so many things, I was young, idealistic, and yes, I wanted to change the world.
But my dreams were based on shaky foundations, and as fast as I would decide on doing something, my interest would wane and take on a new form, and I’d see myself dreaming of another life altogether.
When I was in high school, I wrote stories only I would read. I daydreamed of becoming a writer or a filmmaker. It was a thrill to create scenarios in my head and putting them down on paper. I would read and reread them, refining and editing the stories until they were perfect to my liking. I felt strongly about the whole process.
I was so sure I’d be someone eventually writing prose so good that it would tug at heartstrings. One day I would birth one story so great it would move mountains, or at least challenge and provoke thoughts.
But life happened. The path I wanted to take seemed way beyond my reach. Even though I’d stretch hard enough, my efforts would be futile.
I had to make life choices out of practicality, and also out of cowardice. I was afraid to even try. Not trying meant never experiencing to fail. I was afraid my dreams would someday tell me I wasn’t good enough, drag me to the pits, and spit at me for even thinking about them. I did not want to burst my own bubble. I was stuck with the idea that in all the parallel universes out there, every single different version of me was doing everything I was afraid to do.
Every time we choose our future selves, we also mourn the people we never get to be. It’s the push and pull of emotions and logic. Maybe that’s why we get stuck when we’re on the crossroads, and why making decisions is so hard.
Irvin Yalom described this dilemma as people’s “fear of freedom.” When we are free to choose, with that freedom comes responsibility and loss. Because what if we make the wrong judgment? What if along the way we want to be somebody else?
But the only way to truly live is to take the leap, to eventually pick one course and stick to it. In the end, all the roads we take should lead us to where we are meant to be. As wise people say, we would always regret the things we didn’t do, as opposed to things we have done.
It’s not that I’m not happy with where I am today. I am. Being a nurse is a choice I made, and a choice I never thought I’d come to love so much. Still, the idea of knowing I can still wrap it all up and take a plunge into whatever else I put my mind on remains at the back of my head. Right now, I’m one of those who tries to help the world in the simple ways I can. Plus, I still write. I think I haven’t gone that far off from the dreams of my youth.
* * *
Klarissa Velasco, 29, is a nurse working in the United Kingdom.