The other day, one of my students confidently informed me that adults can have whatever they want.
This is how my class was treated to a raw moment of somewhat unhinged laughter from me.
We were talking about how to speak to teachers (and other authority figures) when you feel you’ve been wrongly accused. It grew out of a situation where students had begun arguing with a teacher after being redirected. I want my students to understand two things at the same time: that there are moments when you need to follow directions, and that there are also moments when it’s both appropriate and important to stand up for yourself.
I told them this skill doesn’t magically stop mattering once you become an adult. Authority doesn’t disappear; it just changes shape. Bosses replace teachers. You still have to advocate for yourself without burning bridges.
Well, it was during that conversation when my student made the confident declaration that adults can have whatever they want.
I laughed.
Not my usual, good-natured classroom laugh. This was my unhinged laugh, normally reserved for close friends. The room went completely still. I swear, the students were staring at me as if I had grown another head. They obviously didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned about me.
“Oh, you funny,” I finally retorted.
And then I explained that adults absolutely do not get whatever they want.
That moment stayed with me.
It sent my thoughts tumbling through all the dreams I’ve had to let go of over the years. I am nowhere near where my younger, idealistic self thought I’d be. For many years, this felt like a failure. Like I had been broken.
These lines by Sara Teasdale’s poem Wisdom used to haunt me:
When I have ceased to break my wings
Against the faultiness of things
For a long time, my life felt like I was breaking my wings every time I tried something. When idealistic dreams face reality, it isn’t reality that ends up slamming into a wall. Each collision left me bruised, until I slowly learned that not every fight was about winning. Some fights were more about learning what was realistic.
And for years, I was bitter about that. But… I’m not any more.
Now, I’m happy.
I’ve built a life that fits me. A life I’m content with. One I wouldn’t trade for the versions I imagined as a child, no matter how shiny they once seemed. Now, I know that they wouldn’t have worked for me. They were not right for me.
Letting go of dreams doesn’t mean you failed; it means you learned which ones will break you down instead of build you up. When you release dreams that have held you back, you aren’t left with nothing. Instead, you become ready to accept the dreams that will work.
So here’s to our new dreams, our better dreams… the ones that won’t require us to break our wings.
And if you haven’t found them yet?
Keep going. You will.