While many eight-year-olds dreamed of traveling to space, swimming with mermaids, or fighting fires, I loved to dream of an age, a magic number, a glorified, girly 16. I looked forward to long car rides just as much as I did the destinations; the entertainment my imagination provided staring out the window always rivaled that of amusement parks, toy stores or jungle gyms. Movies such as Mean Girls and Clueless scripted a perfect reality I believed was reserved for only the best of 16-year-olds. I dreamed of my Sweet 16, the day my pink birthday cake would be waiting for me with 16 Candles as I sprung down the stairs my one-story ranch doesn’t have. Always putting my size 4 feet in my mother’s size 9 heels, wanting to babysit rather than being babysat, I realize I spent my entire childhood playing teenager. 

At 16, I scripted to get my license and drive away, leaving my childish flaws trickling out the tank. But as I turned the keys on my birthday, these flaws remained right beside me. While the high school setting in my childhood movies turned into offices and cities on shows like Suits and Grey’s Anatomy, the scripts I had spent my life writing were quickly replaced with those played out by 25 year olds. Incessantly daydreaming once more, I was canceling plans with friends, driving alone in my parent’s car from job to job, running to feed feral cats, or rushing to another sports practice, my mind always a million places but with me. 

25 replaced 16, just as another sparkly age could replace 25, but at 17, I realize I have spent too much of my life dreaming of the one that is way ahead of me. Growing up, we were all taught to Dream Big, and to do whatever we could to make those dreams come true. Hopes are important and drive ambition. But at 17, I see that dreaming can become an exhaustive anticipation, something that’s restlessly thrown me onto a treadmill chasing one dream just to chase another. Now, rather than incessant planning and always weighing what I’m doing, I sometimes try to just do. I look at my reality, and I see my neighbor’s garden full of 300 bonsai trees welcoming me into their haven of branches where I can lose myself for hours. I relish the smiles the animals I work with ignite in both myself and others. I appreciate the junior prom I canceled work for, the lives of my friends, and the beauty of their imperfections as we lose ourselves in the lyrics blasting on the car radio.

Everyone tells us to dream, but no one warns us to dream cautiously. I’ve spent too many moments fantasizing about the ones to come, believing my life will be perfect if, when. I wonder if I’ve made my dreams into burdens when things don’t live up to my expectations or when not reaching a goal is a failure I just can’t accept. But I now understand that no matter what I do, life is not like the movies; it’s not supposed to be.

I’ll always cherish the ambition and independence that my imagination drives me to work for, but I’ve learned to equally appreciate where I am now. I realize it’s actually what I take from the present that can instill a determination stronger than any discipline or planning. I’m living 17, not 17 and planning 25. This battle for balance is the one dialogue I always want to follow; I intend to live in the now and aim for my goals, but not spend every moment calculating how each task will map out my future. No longer obsessively following the lines of the characters in the movies, I embrace my own script.