The other day, one of my students confidently informed me that adults can have whatever they want.
This is how my class was introduced to a raw moment of unhinged laughter from me.
The conversation started innocently enough. 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.
Sometimes I feel like adulthood is mostly learning how to hold your teeth back… without losing your spine.
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 and late-night conversations. The room went completely still. Wide eyes. Slight concern. 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. And honestly? That realization used to feel like failure.
These lines by Sara Teasdale used to haunt me:
“When I have ceased to break my wings
Against the faultiness of things”
(from Wisdom)
For a long time, my life felt like a constant fight of idealism crashing headfirst into reality. Each collision left me bruised, until I slowly learned that not every fight was meant to be won by force.
Some required restraint. Some required patience.
Some required staying grounded instead of being airborne.
And yet… and yet.
I’m no longer bitter about it. I used to be. But now… 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.
My life wasn’t built in a series of golden moments. It was built through the painful times, of nursing my wounds and desperate tries to stop the pain from happening. Along the way, I’ve shed a lot of dreams: Some because I outgrew them, others because I learned they simply weren’t realistic.
But here’s the thing no one tells you:
Letting go of dreams doesn’t mean you failed; it means you learned which ones were breaking you instead of building you. When you release dreams that have held you back, you don’t stay empty-handed.
You gain new ones.
Better ones. Truer ones. Ones shaped by experience, not fantasy.
So here’s to our new dreams, our better dreams… the ones that won’t require us to break our wings.
And if you don’t have them yet?
Keep going. You will find them.
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