What are your dreams?

For a long time, I equated being busy with being successful.

The constant motion, the noise, the full schedule… it gave me the illusion that I was in control, that I was doing life “right.”

But somewhere along the way, in the still moments I used to avoid, I started to see things differently.

It was in the quiet that I began to hear myself.

Not the version of me performing or achieving, but the one simply being.

The one I had ignored beneath all the noise.

I’m still learning how to be with that part of me, the one who doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

Silence, I’ve come to learn, doesn’t mean absence. Sometimes, it’s presence in its purest form.

My days are often full… movement, momentum, intensity.

But my nights… my nights are quiet. That’s when I write. That’s when the deeper parts of me show up, my fears, my longings, my forgotten dreams. The things I don’t always have space to name during the day.

Lately, I’ve been wondering:

When was the last time you sat with yourself long enough to hear what you truly want?

When was the last time you spoke your dreams out loud… even if just to yourself?