When I was eight years old, I wanted to become an astronaut.
Or maybe a writer. Or a wildlife explorer. The exact dream changed from week to week — but the common thread was always the same: curiosity, wonder, and freedom.
Then I grew up. Like most of us, I let those childhood dreams fade into the background while real life took center stage. Bills, deadlines, expectations. There was always something more “practical” to do.
But recently, after years of feeling disconnected and creatively numb, I decided to try something different: I would spend one week fully committing to one of my childhood dreams.
No excuses. No “I’m too old for that.” Just one week of living with the joy, imagination, and fearlessness I once had.
What happened next surprised me in ways I never expected.
The Dream I Chose
I had many childhood dreams, but the one that stuck with me the longest was writing and illustrating my own adventure stories. When I was a kid, I’d spend hours with a pencil, creating little comic books about magical forests, lost cities, and animal sidekicks. I’d narrate aloud, adding dramatic voices and scribbled “sound effects” in the margins.
But somewhere around high school, I stopped drawing. And by the time I hit adulthood, I had convinced myself that writing for fun was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
So I made a decision: for seven days, I would return to that world. I’d spend each day creating a short illustrated adventure story, just like I used to — no pressure to be good, just to enjoy the process.
Day 1 – Facing the Inner Critic
As I opened my old sketchbook on Day 1, something unexpected happened: I froze.
My adult brain kicked in instantly. “You’re not good enough.” “This is silly.” “You’re wasting time.”
It was shocking to realize how quickly I’d learned to silence joy with logic. I had to fight the urge to open my phone or go do something “productive.”
So I took a deep breath, grabbed a pencil, and just… started.
My first drawing was awkward. My writing felt clumsy. But halfway through the story — about a talking owl guiding a lost traveler through a glowing cave — I felt something shift. Not perfection. Not even confidence. Just a small flicker of joy.
Day 2 – Rediscovering Play
By the second day, something inside me softened. I gave myself permission to play, to make weird sound effects, to laugh at my own jokes, to draw wobbly trees with smiling faces.
I wasn’t doing this to publish a book or build a portfolio. I was doing it because I wanted to. Because eight-year-old me would’ve thought it was the coolest thing ever.
I hadn’t felt that light in years.
Day 3 – The Return of Wonder
On Day 3, I went to the park with a sketchpad and sat under a tree like I used to. I watched squirrels chase each other, noticed patterns in the clouds, listened to kids play nearby.
Suddenly, the world felt magical again.
That night, my story was about a girl who finds a secret key buried under a tree root. The story practically wrote itself. It wasn’t polished — but it was alive.
I realized how little we allow ourselves to experience wonder as adults. We scroll. We plan. We worry. But we forget to see.
That day reminded me how to look at the world with wide eyes again.
Day 4 – The Emotional Crash
Halfway through the week, I hit a wall.
I felt silly. Like I was wasting my time chasing a fantasy. I even considered quitting. My adult self said, “You’re not a kid anymore. What’s the point?”
But then I found one of my old childhood notebooks in a dusty box under the bed. Inside were dozens of stories and drawings, each bursting with color and life. I cried.
Not because they were good — but because I saw how fearless I once was. How unapologetically creative. How unbothered I was by judgment or failure.
That night, I wrote again. Not for perfection. Just for her — that little version of me who once dreamed so freely.
Day 5 – Flow
Something magical happened on Day 5: I entered flow.
I sat down in the morning and didn’t look up for hours. My pen moved without thinking. The characters took on lives of their own. I lost track of time.
It reminded me of what real passion feels like — not ambition, not pressure — but that feeling of being completely absorbed in something for no other reason than because it lights you up.
I hadn’t felt that in so long.
Day 6 – Reconnecting With Myself
By now, I started noticing changes in my day-to-day life.
I was more present in conversations. I laughed more. I daydreamed again. I didn’t check my phone as often.
I realized that pursuing my childhood dream wasn’t just an act of nostalgia — it was an act of reconnection.
I was returning to a part of myself that had been buried under adult obligations. A part that was still alive. Still creative. Still full of wonder.
Day 7 – The End or the Beginning?
On the final day, I created my favorite story of the week — about a lighthouse that glows only when someone is brave enough to approach it. I drew, wrote, and even made a cover for it.
When I finished, I didn’t feel sad it was over. I felt grateful.
Grateful that I gave myself permission to try.
Grateful that I remembered who I was underneath all the layers.
And above all — grateful that I listened.
What This Week Taught Me
1. Your childhood dream still matters
Even if it seems impractical, childish, or unrelated to your career — it mattered to you once for a reason. It was a window into your truest self.
2. Joy doesn’t need a justification
We’re trained to think everything must lead to a result. But joy is a result. Creativity is a reward in itself.
3. You don’t need permission to start
You’re allowed to draw, dance, write, or build treehouses — even if you’re “too old.” Even if you’re not “good enough.” Just begin.
4. Imagination is a form of healing
When you tap into your creative side, you reconnect with something deeper than logic. You access memory, emotion, intuition — and that can be incredibly healing.
5. The child in you never truly left
They’re still there, waiting for you to pick up the pencil, the microphone, the paintbrush, the dream.
Now It’s Your Turn
What was your childhood dream?
To be a singer? A pilot? A chef? A magician?
What if — just for one hour, one day, or one week — you gave yourself permission to revisit that dream without pressure, without judgment?
You might be surprised what wakes up inside of you.
Not because you’ll become rich or famous. But because you’ll remember who you are.
And in a world that constantly tries to tell you what you should be — remembering who you really are might be the most powerful act of all.