The Weight of a Dream

I remember the first time I heard someone say, “Your goals don’t work unless you do.” I was 17, and I thought it sounded like just another motivational quote you scroll past on Instagram. You know, the kind of thing that looks good in cursive over a stock photo of a sunrise. I didn’t think much of it then.

But now, at 28, I know better. I’ve lived that truth. And if you’ve ever found yourself staring at a list of dreams that never came true, wondering what went wrong—you might know it too.

This story isn’t about fame or fortune. It’s about learning the hard way that having a dream is only the first step. It’s what you do after the dreaming that makes all the difference.

The Comfort of Imagining

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a musician. I wasn’t trying to be famous—I just wanted to create songs that made people feel. Music was my safe place. In high school, I wrote lyrics in the back of my math notebook. At night, I’d sit with my guitar and write little pieces of my heart into songs only my bedroom walls ever heard.

People would tell me, “You’ve got something special.” And I believed them. But belief alone doesn’t move mountains.

I told everyone I was going to “make it”—but I rarely practiced. I downloaded music software and never learned how to use it. I made endless plans to record an album, but didn’t finish even one full song. I thought wanting it badly enough would make it happen.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

The Slow Burn of Reality

After high school, life moved on without waiting for me. I took a job at a small retail store. The money wasn’t great, but it was enough. I told myself it was temporary—that music was still the goal.

Every now and then, I’d get inspired and write something. I’d post a short video or record a rough demo. Friends would cheer me on. “This is so good!” they’d say. “You’re really talented.” Their words felt nice, but they also gave me a false sense of progress.

Because while I was busy soaking up compliments, I wasn’t actually doing the work.

Five years passed. Then six.

One night, I found myself scrolling through Instagram and saw a former classmate—someone who also loved music—performing onstage at a local festival. They had just released their second EP.

Something in me snapped.

Not out of jealousy. But out of recognition.

They hadn’t waited around for inspiration or motivation. They’d worked. Day by day. Quietly. Relentlessly. While I was still “getting ready,” they were getting better.

That night, I opened my notebook for the first time in months. Not to write another plan. But to write the truth.

Starting From the Bottom

I didn’t quit my job. I didn’t drop everything and chase a dream with reckless abandon. What I did was harder: I started small, and I started showing up every single day.

I made a schedule. One hour every evening—just me, my guitar, and a blank page. No excuses. No distractions.

At first, the songs were clunky. My voice cracked. My fingers fumbled. It was humbling to realize how much ground I’d lost. But something else was happening too: I was improving.

One month became three. Then six. I recorded one full song. Then another. I watched YouTube tutorials to learn sound mixing. I asked for feedback from people who would tell me the truth, not just what I wanted to hear.

I stopped dreaming about performing, and started preparing to perform. I booked a slot at a tiny open mic, shaking like a leaf. But I showed up. I sang. People clapped. Not because I was amazing, but because I was real.

The Shift

The more I worked, the more I wanted to work. And that was the most surprising part of all.

Because I used to think motivation came first—that if I didn’t feel inspired, I couldn’t be productive. But it’s the other way around. Action creates motivation. Consistency breeds inspiration.

I realized that dreams don’t die because we aren’t good enough. They die because we stop showing up. We wait for the “perfect time” or “perfect version” of ourselves to appear. But the truth is: that version only shows up after we put in the work.

Now, a few years into this new rhythm, I’ve released my first EP. I’ve played over 30 shows. I’ve connected with other indie artists. No, I haven’t “made it” in the traditional sense. But I’ve made something I’m proud of. And that’s more than enough.

The Moral

If you’ve got a dream sitting on the shelf, this is your wake-up call: dust it off.

Don’t wait for inspiration. Don’t wait until you “feel ready.” Just start. Right now. With what you have. However imperfect it is.

Because your goals don’t work unless you do.

Dreams aren’t magic. They’re muscle. The more you use them, the stronger they get. The more you feed them with time, discipline, and effort, the more alive they become.

One day, you’ll look back—not with regret, but with pride. Because you didn’t just hope for a life you loved.

You built it.