We spend so much of our lives dreaming—of better circumstances, of recognition, of creative fulfillment. These visions pull us forward through difficult days and uninspired moments. But what happens when a dream transitions from the realm of imagination into reality? How does achievement transform not just our external circumstances, but our internal landscape?

This week’s question from Gregory Stock’s The Book of Questions invites us to consider both the dreams we’ve already brought to life and those still waiting in the wings: How much better would your life be if your dreams came true? What dreams have you already achieved?

This question feels particularly resonant as I continue last week’s exploration of dreams—those we pursue relentlessly and those we let go. The question strikes at something fundamental about how we measure progress in our lives and how we imagine our future selves.

The Dream Already Becoming Reality

Last week, I shared my lifelong dream of writing a novel—not just starting one, but finishing one. After decades of false starts and self-sabotage, I finally completed not just one but two novels during National Novel Writing Month.

This achievement represents my most significant dream realized thus far. The completion of these manuscripts marked a profound shift in my self-perception. For years, “aspiring writer” had been part of my identity—a label that contained both possibility and its painful twin, unfulfillment. Crossing that threshold from aspiring to having actually written changed something fundamental about how I see myself.

The achievement itself wasn’t merely checking a box; it was proof that I could overcome the critical inner voice that had blocked me for so long. I learned that I could, in fact, finish something I started—something creative, substantial, and entirely mine.

Yet like many realized dreams, achieving one goal simply revealed the next summit waiting to be climbed. Having written novels, my focus shifted to getting them published. The dream evolved rather than concluded.

If Publishing Dreams Came True

When I consider how much better my life would be if my current dream came true—seeing my novel published, walking into a bookstore and finding my name on a spine—I see ripples of transformation extending outward in concentric circles.

At the center would be validation—external confirmation of the value I’ve placed on my creative work. There’s something powerful about having others deem your work worthy of investment, of ink and paper, of shelf space. While I know intellectually that external validation shouldn’t be the measure of creative worth, I can’t deny its potential impact on my confidence and sense of legitimacy as a writer.

Beyond validation, publication would transform my daily reality. It would likely accelerate my transition from seeing writing as a cherished hobby to viewing it as a central professional identity. Time once allocated to daydreaming about publication would shift to the actual work of being a published author—engaging with readers, planning future books, perhaps even speaking or teaching about the craft.

Most profoundly, I believe achieving this dream would alter my life’s trajectory. Publication isn’t just a single moment but an opening of doors. It creates possibilities for connections with readers and other writers. It changes how you introduce yourself, how others perceive you, and ultimately, the opportunities that come your way.

Would publication make my life definitively “better”? That’s a more complex question. Publication brings its own challenges—the pressure of deadlines, the vulnerability of public reception, the inevitable comparisons to other writers. The dream coming true wouldn’t eliminate struggle from my life; it would transform the nature of that struggle.

What I know for certain is that publication would fulfill a deep longing to contribute something lasting to the world. To create characters and stories that might accompany readers through difficult times, provoke thought, or simply provide escape—that possibility makes the dream worth pursuing, regardless of the other changes it might bring.

The Curious Nature of Achieved Dreams

There’s something bittersweet about achieving a long-held dream. The poet Sylvia Plath captured this feeling when she wrote: “If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating.”

Dreams achieved can sometimes feel this way—beautiful in their realization but annihilating in that their achievement removes something that has long oriented your life. The writer Neil Gaiman described this feeling after winning a Hugo Award, a dream he’d had since childhood. He found himself thinking, “Now what do I do?”

This may be why we so quickly replace achieved dreams with new ones. Nature abhors a vacuum, and so does the dreaming mind. No sooner have we reached one summit than our eyes lift to the next peak on the horizon.

I’ve experienced this already in my writing journey. The euphoria of typing “The End” on my first completed manuscript lasted perhaps a day before my thoughts turned to revision, to querying agents, to publication. The achievement became a stepping stone rather than a destination.

Perhaps this is the true nature of dreams—not fixed stars we reach and then rest beneath, but rather constellations that guide us across the ever-expanding universe of our potential.

When Dreams Remain Dreams

Not all dreams are destined for realization, of course. Some remain beautiful possibilities, shimmering on the horizon of our lives. These unrealized dreams serve their own purpose—they expand our sense of what’s possible, even if we never fully grasp them.

I have dreams like this too—visions that seem so distant they exist more as pleasant fantasies than actionable goals. Seeing my work adapted for screen, traveling to write in rented cottages across Europe, founding a writing retreat for emerging authors—these dreams feel remote from my current reality.

Yet even these unlikely dreams enrich my life. They provide mental escape during mundane moments. They offer direction when I consider how to allocate resources or which opportunities to pursue. They give texture and possibility to an unwritten future.

The poet Mary Oliver asks: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Dreams—both those within reach and those that remain aspirational—help answer this question. They are expressions of what we value, what we believe possible, and what we believe ourselves capable of achieving.

The Philosophy of Dreams and Achievement

Stock’s question invites a deeper philosophical exploration: What is the relationship between dreaming and fulfillment? Between achievement and happiness?

Western culture often presents a linear narrative of dream fulfillment: identify desire, pursue desire, achieve desire, experience lasting satisfaction. Yet research in positive psychology suggests a more complex reality. Studies on “hedonic adaptation” show that humans quickly return to baseline happiness levels after both positive and negative life changes.

Even significant achievements—landing dream jobs, publishing books, winning awards—provide shorter-lived happiness boosts than we anticipate. We adapt to our new circumstances with remarkable speed.

This doesn’t mean dreams aren’t worth pursuing. Rather, it suggests we might find more lasting fulfillment in the pursuit itself than in the moment of achievement. The psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi called this state of engaged, challenging pursuit “flow”—and identified it as a key component of a well-lived life.

Perhaps the most meaningful dreams aren’t those that promise a permanent state of satisfaction once achieved, but those that keep us engaged in purposeful striving—in flow—for extended periods of our lives.

My writing journey exemplifies this principle. The moments of greatest fulfillment haven’t been the achievement milestones but the ordinary mornings spent in creative flow, fully absorbed in bringing characters and worlds to life. The dream of publication keeps me returning to this state of engagement day after day.

Dreams as Transformation

Beyond happiness, dreams fulfill another crucial function: they transform us. We cannot pursue significant dreams without ourselves being changed in the process.

To write novels, I had to develop discipline, learn to silence my inner critic, study story structure, and cultivate resilience in the face of creative blocks. The pursuit altered not just what I did but who I am.

This transformative power may be the greatest gift of meaningful dreams. They require us to become more than we are—to develop capacities, skills, and strengths we didn’t previously possess. They call forth our potential and give it shape.

Even dreams that never fully materialize can transform us. The person who trains for years to qualify for the Olympics but falls short still develops extraordinary physical capacities and mental toughness. The entrepreneur whose startup ultimately fails still gains invaluable skills in leadership, problem-solving, and resilience.

In this sense, the question “How much better would your life be if your dreams came true?” might be reframed: “How has the pursuit of your dreams already made your life better?”

Dreams in Dialogue

Dreams don’t exist in isolation. They’re shaped by our culture, our communities, and our relationships. They’re influenced by what others expect of us and what we witness others achieving.

This social dimension of dreaming is often overlooked but tremendously important. We dream differently—more expansively, more specifically—when we see others like us achieving similar dreams. This is why representation matters so profoundly in all fields of human endeavor.

My own writing dreams were shaped by the authors I read growing up, by teachers who encouraged my early efforts, by writing communities that showed me paths to publication. My dreams exist in continuous dialogue with others’ dreams and achievements.

This dialogic nature of dreams invites us to consider not just our personal dreams but our collective ones. What do we dream together? How might individual achievement contribute to shared aspiration?

For me, publication isn’t just about personal recognition but about adding my voice to ongoing cultural conversations, about creating stories that might speak to others’ experiences, about participating in the ancient human tradition of storytelling.

Your Dreams, Achieved and Awaited

What about you, dear reader? What dreams have you already achieved that have transformed your life? Which achievements shifted your sense of what’s possible or altered your self-perception in meaningful ways?

And what dreams still await realization? How do you imagine your life would change if these dreams came true? Which aspects would improve most significantly? Which challenges might these realized dreams bring with them?

I’m particularly curious about the dreams that have surprised you—those whose achievement felt different than you anticipated, or those that appeared in your life unexpectedly and proved more meaningful than the dreams you’d long carried.

Dreams are deeply personal, yet discussing them creates connection. Sharing what we aspire to reveals our values, our fears, and our hopes. It makes visible the invisible architecture of motivation that shapes our choices and actions.

Dreaming Forward

As I continue pursuing publication—researching agents, revising manuscripts, studying the publishing landscape—I hold both patience and urgency in balance. The dream matters enough to pursue diligently but not so much that its achievement becomes the sole measure of my creative life’s worth.

I’ve learned that dreams serve us best when they orient rather than consume us. When they provide direction without dictating worth. When they inspire action without guaranteeing specific outcomes.

The writer Cheryl Strayed offers wisdom that applies well to dream pursuit: “You don’t have a career, you have a life.” Similarly, we don’t have dreams—we have lives that dreams help shape and direct.

Perhaps the most profound question isn’t whether our dreams come true, but whether our dreams—achieved or not—help us live more fully. Whether they connect us more deeply to ourselves, to others, and to what matters most.

By this measure, the novel-writing dream I’ve already achieved has immeasurably enriched my life. And the publication dream still in progress continues to do the same—regardless of when or whether it materializes as I envision.

What dreams are shaping your life? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

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This post is part of my “Question of the Week” series, where I explore thought-provoking questions from Gregory Stock’s “The Book of Questions” and share my personal reflections. Join the conversation in the comments!