“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Lily asked me.
We had climbed onto the roof of her grandmother’s summer house. The view looked like a painting – the sunset painted the sky in pink and orange, and I was holding a sketchbook in my hands.
“An artist… or a writer. Or maybe both!” I said.
Lily smiled.
“I want to be a vet. But my dad says it’s really hard and you have to be super smart.”
“But… does that mean if you’re not super smart, you’re not allowed to dream?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem logical to me.”
Then I remembered something I’d heard on TV:
“Follow your dreams!” – they all say that, right? But then they add, “Be realistic.”
So which is it supposed to be?
“Lily, if you want to be a vet – you will be. At least, I’ll bring my dog to you when I grow up. I promise!”
“And if you become a writer, you’ll give me your first book with a signed autograph!” Lily laughed.
“I promise. But you’ll have to remind me not to forget my dreams. Grown-ups sometimes forget them.”
Then we lay back on the roof, watching the clouds, and imagined a dream floating like a balloon – high, high up… And if you truly believe in it – it doesn’t pop.
“For real?” I whispered.
And I decided: even when I grow up, I’ll remember this. Dreams aren’t for ‘realists.’
They’re for the brave.