No Particular Destination

I was around six years old when my dad began to give me prompts at bedtime. I was often anxious around nightfall and could be found huddling under the covers in hopes that my comforter would ward off the shadows that crept into my overactive imagination. In an attempt to distract me from the nervous thinking that led to many midnight “Daaaadd”s and “Moooomm”s, my dad started asking me to create happy and uplifting images in my head. His prompts varied from “design the perfect dog house for Josie” to “imagine you were opening a special kind of bakery—what would make it unique?” While these prompts always helped me calm down before bed, I also believe that they sparked my love of dreaming—in my waking life—about what could be. I loved the creative flexibility that these reveries provided. There was no need for perfection, no need for speed, and no particular destination. I was free to explore my dreamscape however I wished. 

These early exercises in creating a world I yearned for shaped the person I am today. And while I continue to dream, the way I think about my aspirations and their limitations has evolved.   

As I grew older, I began to rely less on my dad’s bedtime prompts as my own curiosity and imagination became stronger. It was not uncommon for my seventh-grade self to wake up at one in the morning, flick on my lamp, and scribble a half-formed epiphany into the hot pink notebook that rested on my bedside table for this exact purpose. These ideas always centered on bringing light to the world in a small way: stuffed animals with a lavender scent dispensing system for kids who struggled with sleep or a pajama company that employed and empowered women. When I flip back through these ideas every now and then for nostalgia’s sake, I can’t help but laugh at the precision I put into planning such extraordinary and somewhat impossible schemes. I did draw out blueprints for the stuffed animal project, in case you were wondering. Nonetheless, as I flip through the wide-ruled pages, it brings me a sense of pride to see the ways my thoughts became more and more intricate over time. There is a tangible growth in the way I imagined bringing my dreams into the world. A slow, beautiful progression as I worked through my goals and hopes through my haphazard sketches and scribbles.

In high school, my dreaming process began to shift from inventing in my head and notebook to the collection and curation of fragments in the digital world. I started imagining my future life this way using Pinterest boards that I continue to fill with images today. I truly believe that in some way, these boards have become a form of dream planning by providing a space for me to gather concrete visuals of my goals and hopes for my life. Just like my pink notebook filled with inventions, these boards demonstrate how my dreams for the future have evolved with time. As I look back through my boards, I can trace the origin of my current running a colorful, creative, and community-centered store. My Pinterest boards hold the pegboard walls I one day hope to fill with local artisans’ products in my shop, activism-centered artwork that I hope to promote and create for good causes, and fragments of my own small business endeavors from throughout the years that taught me many lessons about marketing myself, my creations, and all I have to offer the world. 

In addition to my slight Pinterest obsession, my future planning also manifests in observing others who are living out slices of what I aspire to do one day. I watch Instagram stories of other creative small-business owners, read books about their triumphs and failures, and cheer for them as they open additional branches, redesign stores, and launch new products. Living in Colorado Springs, I find daily inspiration in the operations of companies such as Eclectic Co., Ladyfingers Letterpress, and Heartshake Studios which all uplift women, queer, and POC creators looking to make a social impact.

But just as the style of my dreaming has evolved, so have my doubts. As I come to the end of my first year at Colorado College, my dreams for the future have started feeling more impossible and insignificant than ever before. As a part of this community of intelligent and driven students, I often find myself comparing my hopes to those of my classmates who plan on becoming doctors, environmental scientists, documentarians, and so on. Their big dreams often make me wonder why I don’t also strive to enact change in big ways or achieve a high status or fame in my future career. Questions like this have flooded my mind over the past few months, often keeping me awake at night for far longer than I’d like. The shadows that once lurked in the closets of my youth have shifted into shadows of the future hanging over my head. I seem to be needing my dad’s prompts more than ever these days.

Because of these doubts, I have spent much of this year frustrated with myself for wanting to pursue my dream of owning my own store. As I was walking back from my friend’s room in the Loomis basement, I stopped to admire the neat handwriting painted on one section of the hallway. While looking closer at the crisp lettering that read, “Life is a journey, not a destination,” I realized that this quote, whose clichéd nature had always irritated me, was actually how I’ve always aspired to live my life. I want to value my natural exploration and progress more than the conventional milestones that I feel pressured to focus on. Of course, opening a store is big, but what I really crave are the memories that will come with it, the progress I’ll make internally, and the relationships I’ll form with my community. I have always wanted to focus on the everyday victories of life. I now realize that this quote has upset me in the past because it feels hypocritical, like an impossible standard. While variations of the journey and destination trope are pinned all over schools and workplaces, these are also the environments that focus the most on the destination––the graduation, the test score, the major, or the promotion––rather than the small steps that add up to great things. 

As I approach an age where I am expected to start picking my destinations, the carefree dreams of my youth suddenly feel overwhelmed with deadlines, leading to the uncertainty I’ve been experiencing all year. Yet, understanding where my doubt stems from is pushing me to work through it. I am working to embrace the fact that my destination will come only after a long journey. I do not need to have it all figured out right now. Though my dream may not hold the same status as that of some of my peers’ futures, I may one day inspire a generation of younger kids who step through my shop’s doors as I pursue something I love.

I can already hear the bell at the door of my shop ringing as I flip the “OPEN” sign to welcome the community in. One day, I’ll gaze at the deep teal walls I’ve painted with care as I restock cheerful and inspiring prints, pottery, and other joyful products made by artists I know and adore. I’ll greet my regular customers with gratitude and look forward to every new face who walks through my doors. I’ll plan for what is to come, even if it’s just in my head, notebook, and social media for now. Sure my goals may change with time, but I will continue to dream of them every day. I will choose to believe in a beautiful future for myself.