NdukuOutLoud

On Dreams That Refuse to Work

I don’t think those two words-dream and job-belong together. Or maybe I just wish they didn’t.

I’ve had many dream somethings: a dream house, a dream car, even a dream man ( back when I was young and naïve enough to believe in that sort of thing). I’ve had dreams I wished would come true with the swish of a magic wand. But a dream job? Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Sure, it would be nice not to clock in every morning, not to be interrogated when you’re late, not to make small talk with Susan-who doesn’t get jokes. That would make for a great work environment. But a dream job? I don’t agree.

Jobs drain the life out of dreams. As soon as something becomes a job, it’s about targets, ought- to’s , must- do’s. It’s logical, reasoned, boxed in by possibilities and impossibilities. Dreams don’t work that way.

Dreams are wild. Impractical. They demand divine intervention. Not HR policies and “what not to wear” emails. Not delayed salaries.

What I am trying to say is I don’t have one.

The dreams I once had-being an air hostess, a psychologist, a lawyer-were just that: dreams. Until adults introduced the idea of working. Until reality hit: qualifications, salaries, family implications, the endless chorus of “maybe you’re not suited for that.” And the dreaded question: Is this really what you want to do for the rest of your life?

We don’t get to dream freely anymore-not in this economy. Every dream is tagged, questioned, monetized. Every hobby must justify itself. Every wish must make sense. Somewhere along the way, we managed to suck the joy out of private, well-meant dreams.

Do you believe in dream jobs, or do you think dreams deserve to stay untamed?