Never Stop Dreaming — Especially of Who You Can Become

Every morning at 4:30 AM, James Holloway sat in the same corner booth at Millie's Diner on 3rd Street. It wasn't the coffee that drew him—too bitter, too burnt—but the quiet. Before the city awakened, James could sit by himself, notebook open, mind wandering.

James was 52 years old. He had long grown into a life most would deem uneventful. He worked nights cleaning at Mercy General Hospital. He resided in a small apartment over a laundromat. His phone rang scarcely. But none of it cared to him. For James possessed something few people still did at that age: dreams.

As a child, he'd always had a fascination with machines. Radios, clocks, old televisions—he disassembled and reassembled them all, just to see how they worked. He'd once dreamed of being an engineer. Life, however, had other plans. His father died when James was seventeen, and college was something he couldn't afford. He did odd jobs, eventually settling into regular work as a janitor.

But he never stopped sketching. Each night, no matter how tired he'd gotten after work, James would take out his notebook and sketch. Now and then it was new devices or fixes to everyday problems. At other times, it was details to things he'd seen on the job. He had scores of notebooks full over the years, silently adding up in his one-room apartment.

One evening while he was at the hospital, James saw a nurse struggling to push a medical cart and carry a tablet while trying to force her way through a stubborn door. She grunted, forcing the cart into the door, frustrated. He never forgot the sight. On the next morning, with lukewarm eggs and black coffee, James sketched out a plan for a pressure-sensitive floor mat that would open the door by itself.

He built a rough prototype out of salvaged parts—a motion sensor from a broken soap dispenser, wiring from a lamp that had been broken, and plastic panels he rummaged up. It was rough, but it worked. Reluctant but hopeful, James presented it to the hospital's maintenance supervisor.

They scoffed at first. A janitor building hospital technology? But their curiosity got the best of them. When they used the mat and it worked the first time, their skepticism disappeared. A complete product was installed all over the hospital in two months.

That wasn't the end of the story. A self-employed consultant at a healthcare tech startup was present that day and heard about the device. He inquired as to where it came from. When they gestured toward James, the overalled janitor who was shining the floor, the man was flabbergasted.

James was asked to come in and share more of his thoughts. Hesitantly, he took in his notebooks, anticipating rejection. Instead, the team listened. They inquired. They snapped photos. Weeks later, the firm approached him with a position in product development—no degree necessary, only his brain and his energy.

By the age of 54, James had traded his mop for a desk, his uniform for jeans and a hoodie. He spent his days creating tools that made life easier for nurses, doctors, and patients. He went to conferences. His name was on patents. But he never bragged.

He still woke up at 4:30. He still sat in the same booth at Millie's Diner. The coffee was still bitter. But now, strangers greeted him. They addressed him by name. Sometimes, students came by, asking him how he did it.

And he would always say the same thing: "Never stop dreaming—especially of who you can become."

Because James Holloway knew the truth. The world may shrink your hopes, but if you keep hold of that little spark—if you keep on sketching, on building, on believing—you can become the person you always wanted to be, no matter how late the hour, no matter how long the wait.

In the quiet, dreams still whisper. And sometimes, they come true.

-Amzad Rahid