*Originally written in January of 2025. This version has been edited and posted on my personal blog, and removed from Medium.

I spend every holiday season splitting time between my mother and father. As a child of divorced parents, my brother and I split landmark holidays (and then some) with our parents. We alternate years and holidays, but this year my brother and I decided, together, to visit my Dad in Mexico to ring in the New Year. When I spend time with my brother, Alex, I often leave more mindful of our shared family experience than when I enter the conversation. This visit was no different. One evening, Alex asked me what I would do if money were no issue and I didn’t have to work my day job.

This was not an offensive question. I love my corporate career. I find privacy incredibly stimulating, and enjoy being a practitioner of risk. For fun, I answered the question. I would volunteer at the humane society, or an education center, or get so involved in local matters that I could know everyone in town and gain great influence. I started rambling enough that eventually I talked myself out of what I would do in the previous sentence. Instead, I would donate endless amounts of hypothetical money, “because there are more skilled people to handle the execution work and I have little idea of what I am doing.” My brother kept prying, stating that I didn’t answer the question and asked me, again, “what would you do if you could work any job? Do anything?” I responded confidently that I would restore old homes, design beautiful spaces (with no grey in sight) and renovate for quality, not for a profit. I could take a creative writing class, or try to be patient enough to throw pottery. I would travel, maybe have children, “but who knows? I have no dating prospects and that’s why I froze my eggs!” I had an answer for everything and nothing at the same time. My answers felt selfish yet exciting. I could detail several ways my life could go, or what my life could look like if I chose a path and stuck to it.

My brother did not skip a beat in his response. He casually picked up his beer and stated that maybe the “dream” I kept referencing was a moving target. It was possible for me to have children, renovate homes with character and travel. In reality, someone can do it all, and it seemed I was having a hard time committing to any kind of starting point. He brought up an idea from David Perell about Hugging the X Axis. The gist of the thought being that you’ll never find success if you don’t commit to an idea. There are infinite possibilities for success along the Y-axis, once you commit to something. If you stayed on the X-axis, you’d continue on this straight line forever, enamored with only the “possibility” of something. Perell writes that “The more options surround you, the less likely you are to make long-term commitments” and I resonated with this when answering the question of what I would do if I didn’t have to worry about basic needs.

The above photo is an excerpt from Perell’s thought, illustrating the X/Y axis commitment and success comparison.

I felt like I was hugging the X axis, moving through the idea of my dreams but unable to commit to one big thought. When I reflect on my life and where I have committed, I’m a pretty good judge of character. I committed to college and a graduate degree. I’ve committed nearly a decade of time to my wonderful corporate career that’s brought me a degree of financial freedom and home ownership that would not have been possible without my commitment to this path. I have nurtured romantic relationships and friendships. I’ve committed to therapy and anti anxiety medication. My discomfort does not reside in the inability to commit, but the anxiety of possibility. I can have several big dreams and decide to execute on them. The only possibility of large-scale failure is if I never commit to any one dream in the first place, and acceptance that my dreams can always change, and likely will, as I move through different versions of myself.

The dream is a moving target. We as humans have so much choice. We can change our minds at any point in time as long as it does not cause harm to ourselves or others. At 23 I can begin climbing the corporate ladder, at 30 I can take a year off to travel the world and at 35 I can have children, or choose not to. I can take the creative writing class at any time, and I have my entire life to fail at making a mug out of clay. I hope I still have dreams when I’m 65. I can’t imagine a life without experiencing “all of the things,” or whatever that means.

I’m still dreaming and figuring out what I want to do with my life. For now, I’m letting my world get rocked a little bit by the declaration that dreams can change, and should change, with age.