Life Is A Dream: Why Dreams of Who We Are and Who We Can Be Get Better As We Age

At 50, I am still dreaming. But my dreams today are different from the ones I had as a child or a young adult. Back then, dreams were my way out—a lifeline to escape circumstances I couldn’t control. I dreamed to survive, to imagine places where the pain couldn’t reach me, and to see myself as more than the limits life tried to impose. Those dreams were necessary, but they came from a place of longing, from wanting to be free when I wasn’t.

Now, at 50, my dreams aren’t about running away. They are about becoming. They remind me of who I’ve been and help me imagine who I can still become. They hold space for both reflection and possibility. My dreams today are quieter, deeper, and more honest. They aren’t about what the world wants me to be, but about how to be my whole self—because now I finally have the freedom to do that.

When you’re young, dreams often come with urgency, like they have an expiration date. You dream fast, dream big, because the world tells you that the clock is ticking. You think every goal must be reached before 30 or 40, or somehow you’ve failed. I used to believe that too. But I’ve lived long enough now to know that the best dreams age with you. They don’t disappear—they grow, they shift, and they wait until you’re ready to see them in a new way.

There are dreams I had in my youth that I no longer carry, and that’s okay. Some dreams belonged to a younger version of me, a version who was figuring out who she was. Others were borrowed dreams—things I thought I wanted because someone else told me I should. But the dreams I have today feel different. They are dreams that come from a place of knowing, of accepting who I am and honoring everything I’ve survived to get here.

At this stage in life, my dreams aren’t just about doing—they’re about being. They aren’t attached to titles or milestones or other people’s expectations. They’re about finding joy in everyday moments, showing up as my full self, and living unapologetically. I dream of loving myself more fiercely, of nurturing relationships that feed my spirit, and of giving the parts of me that once felt hidden the freedom to shine.

I also dream for the future—one I may not fully see but still imagine with hope. I dream about what I’ll leave behind, the kind of legacy that lives in hearts and not headlines. And when the day comes for me to leave this life, I like to believe I’ll still be dreaming—dreaming of what awaits me in whatever lies beyond, dreaming of love, peace, and freedom that even this world couldn’t contain.

Because here’s the truth: you don’t stop dreaming because you get older. You get old when you stop dreaming.

Aging is inevitable but growing old? That’s a choice. It happens when you let the world convince you that your best days are behind you, that there’s nothing new left to want or become. I refuse to live like that. I will age, yes, but I will not grow old. I’ll keep dreaming—not because I need to escape anymore, but because dreaming reminds me that there’s always more to life, more to see, more to feel, and more to give.

So at 50, I am still dreaming. And the dreams I hold now feel richer, more meaningful, and more rooted in who I am than ever before. They remind me that I am still becoming. They remind me that I am free. And as long as I am alive—whether I accomplish every dream or not—I will dream because that’s what keeps me connected to life itself.

And when my time here is done, I’ll dream my way into the next life, too. Because life is a dream—and the best ones never end.