I never had a dream. Not really.
I had interests and I had phases. I had short bursts of excitement that flared up and burned out just as fast. I had things I was good at, things I cared about, things I thought might become something. But I never had the thing.
Some people grow up knowing. They have a calling, a vision, some internal compass pointing them toward a future they can name. “I always knew I wanted to be a teacher.” “I always wanted to help people.” “I’ve been working toward this since I was twelve.” I used to hear them talk and feel something quiet and sharp settle in my chest. Not jealousy exactly. More like confusion or guilt. Like I’d missed the class sign up sheet.
I’ve done okay. More than okay, some would say. I’ve fallen into roles I ended up loving. Learned how to be good at things. Built a life that, on paper, looks like someone who made intentional choices. But if I’m being honest, a lot of it just happened. One thing led to another. I said yes when it felt right and I stayed when it felt worth it. I figured it out as I went.
Sometimes I wonder if I failed some invisible test. If potential is a ghost, I think it’s been standing in the hallway, waiting for me to notice. Not the lack of ability but the lack of a single, burning direction.
There’s this idea in Japanese culture, ikigai. It loosely translates to “reason for being,” but it’s less about having one big calling and more about the space where little things overlap. What you love, what you’re good at, what the world needs, what you can offer. It doesn’t have to be grand. It can be making someone laugh and listening well.
I don’t have great ambition. I don’t have an ultimate goal. But I do have forward momentum.
I don’t know.
Maybe I’ll never have a dream.
Maybe I don’t need one.
Ghosts of the Navigator 