The Day I Realized I Was Living Someone Else’s Dream

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was living a life that wasn’t mine.

It’s funny how we go through the motions of life — school, college, work, relationships — thinking that we’re in control, when really, we’re just ticking boxes someone else handed us. For me, that “someone else” was a mix of society, family expectations, and the invisible pressure to be “successful” — whatever that meant.

It all came crashing down one afternoon in the most ordinary way.

I was having chai with my cousin, Sara, who had just returned from a backpacking trip across Europe. I admired her, not just for her courage to travel alone but for the way she seemed happy. Genuinely happy — like she was alive in a way I had forgotten how to be.

As we sat together, talking about life and choices, she suddenly asked me a question that hit me harder than I expected.

“Irfan, if no one expected anything from you — no parents, no society, no friends — what would you be doing right now?”

It was such a simple question. But I sat there staring at her like she had just spoken a language I didn’t understand.

What would I be doing?

The truth hit me like a punch to the stomach: I had no idea.

My entire life up to that point had been about meeting other people’s expectations. Good grades because that’s what makes you respectable. A business degree because that’s “safe” in our culture. Saying yes to family plans, even if I hated them. Smiling politely at weddings when all I wanted was to be somewhere else. It wasn’t that I hated my life — it’s that I didn’t recognize it as mine.

For days after that conversation, that question haunted me. What would I be doing if no one cared?

Then one night, while scrolling through old photos on my phone, I found a picture I had taken five years earlier. It was of a sketch I had drawn in school — rough, imperfect, but filled with so much energy and detail. I remembered that moment so clearly. I used to draw all the time. I loved creating things. Not for school. Not for grades. Not for likes. Just for me.

When had I stopped?

Somewhere along the line, I traded my creativity for practicality. Art didn’t pay the bills. Design wasn’t a “real career” — or so I was told. I had buried that part of me under deadlines, resumes, and polite small talk at events I didn’t even want to be at.

That night, something shifted in me. I wasn’t about to quit my job, sell everything, and run away like in the movies. But I decided to do one small thing: I picked up a pencil again.

At first, it felt awkward. I hadn’t drawn in years. My lines were shaky. My shading was bad. But it was mine. And for the first time in a long time, I felt connected to something real inside me.

I started sketching after work. Then I bought a small set of paints. Eventually, I posted one of my drawings on Instagram — scared out of my mind. What would people think? Would they laugh at me? Ignore me?

But the opposite happened.

A few friends messaged me saying they never even knew I could draw. A stranger left a comment saying my sketch reminded them of something they’d lost. Slowly, what started as private healing turned into something I shared with the world.

No, I didn’t suddenly become rich or famous. But that wasn’t the point.

The point was — for the first time in my life — I was living a little more for me. Not for my parents. Not for society’s definition of “success.” Not to impress anyone. Just to be honest about who I was.

And the crazy thing is… when you start living honestly, life feels lighter. Even the hard days feel better because at least they’re yours.

It wasn’t all smooth. Some family members didn’t “get it.” Some people rolled their eyes, thinking I was wasting my time. But for every critic, there was someone who supported me. And for the first time, I supported me too.

Now, when I look back at that version of myself — the one who didn’t even know what he wanted — I feel a strange mix of sadness and pride. Sadness that I waited so long. Pride that I finally started.

If you’re reading this and feeling like you’re living someone else’s dream, let me say this: You don’t have to burn your life down to start living yours. Sometimes, all it takes is one small step in the direction of something that feels true.

Maybe for you, it’s writing. Maybe it’s music. Maybe it’s starting a business. Maybe it’s moving to a new city. I don’t know what your thing is — but you do. Somewhere inside you, that thing is waiting, like a small voice saying, “Remember me?”

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to begin.

And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is answer that one simple question:

What would you be doing if no one expected anything from you?

Answer it. Start. You’ll be amazed at what happens next.