Everyone wants to achieve something.
Even without a clear goal, the feeling of moving toward something helps us endure life.
But sometimes, a question quietly surfaces:
During most of our school years, we run simply because everyone else is running.
Without the insight of life, ‘Why?’…
Sometimes we ask ourselves,
“Am I really on the right path?”
But because we’ve already invested so much time, we tell ourselves,
“I’ll think about it later,” and simply move on.
As more time passes, the question returns:
“Am I really pursuing my dream?”
“Did that dream truly begin within me?”
Or am I just following what everyone else is doing?
I used to watch a lot of movies.
At certain points in my life, the characters in films and books became my standard.
Their inspiring lines, moving scenes, and dramatic successes left a deep impression on me.
When I saw older neighbors studying hard, getting jobs, and living what looked like admirable lives,
I thought, “I should hurry and get a job like that too.”
And at some point, that “ideal person’s” life began to feel like the life I should be living.
For example, seeing a movie character overcome hardship and become a world-famous star,
I began to dream of such a life—even though I didn’t even like music.
There was a time when I wanted to be a famous musician simply because it seemed cool.
That dream wasn’t born from sincerity, but from the applause of others and externally implanted ideals.
So I ran.
Toward what I believed was a dream—sometimes foolishly, sometimes relentlessly.
But looking back now, that wasn’t a dream I created.
It was a dream meant to look impressive.
It was a dream the world would applaud.
I achieved some things while chasing it,
but deep inside, I always felt something was missing.
Eventually, after running for a long time, I came to a realization:
I had never really reflected deeply on my own life.
In my obsession with achieving,
I had ignored the more important question: “Who am I?”
We often fall too easily for the phrase,
“Dreams come true.”
But the more important question is:
Did that dream grow from within me,
or was it something draped over me from outside?
Or perhaps—is that even the kind of dream a human being ought to pursue?
As a child, everything seemed possible. Dreams were hope.
But with age, I’ve come to understand:
True dreams may hurt us,
but they also grow us.
Dreams that are only beautiful on the surface leave us hollow once reached.
But dreams born from within give us life—even during the process.
False dreams taste sweet while we run after them,
but leave us empty once we arrive.
What really matters is listening to that quiet inner voice—
the one that speaks only if we return to it repeatedly and patiently.
Now, I’m trying to ask a new question:
Not “What looks impressive?”
But “In what kind of life can I truly breathe?”
And perhaps,
that is the question that leads us to stop living like models—
and start living as real beings.