Dreaming Small
By Sarah J. Hauser
@sarah.j.hauser
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute.
We’re sitting around the scratched up, well-loved dinner table, a hand-me-down that’s certainly taken a beating over the years. My husband and I try to talk with our four kids without their dialogue descending into burping contests. We play “High, Low, Funny-O”, sharing the good, hard, and humorous moments of our days. Every few sentences, we have to tell the four-year-old to take a bite, the other kids to keep their voices down, one child to stop interrupting. It’s chaos, as always. But in between the noise and arguing, the crumbs and messes, conversation begins to take shape.
At one point, my middle son starts educating me on his Pokemon cards, a topic I have exactly zero interest in—but because he loves it, I slap on a smile and ask questions about the difference between V and VMAX cards. That’s part of parenting, isn’t it? To learn to love the things your kids love? I’m trying.
He shows me a card, beaming as he tells me that he looked up its value. It’s one of the special ones, part of a stack of cards that are each carefully slipped into protective plastic sleeves so the edges don’t bend. “They’re super valuable!” he says. “I could make hundreds of dollars!”
Before long, the rest of the table punches holes in his enthusiasm. You sure about that? You know they have to be in perfect condition, right? Where are you even going to sell those?
My son deflates. His shoulders droop, and he gets quiet. I try to rescue the moment. “You guys, let him be excited. We don’t need to give him all the reasons why this won’t work. Can’t we let him dream a little?”
One child replies that they weren’t trying to be mean. They don’t want him to be disappointed. They’re just trying to help him be realistic. I get it. Because I do the same thing.
***
Ask the questions that have no answers.
I’m saying goodnight to one of my other sons. As I sit next to him on his bed, he asks, “Mom, do you really think I’ll make it to the NBA?” I pause before I answer.
He’s raised this question many times before. I look up at the NBA posters lining his room and cover him with the Chicago Bulls blanket I bought him a couple years ago. Although he was born long after Michael Jordan retired, he knows Jordan is the G.O.A.T. He’s seen the clips and has the #23 jersey.
I am not one of those “follow your dreams!” kinds of parents. I’m a “follow your dreams as long as they’re realistic and you can still pay your bills” kind of mom. I guess my version isn’t quite as catchy. I want my kids to be secure, responsible, upstanding citizens who make enough to provide and also give back.
“Well, if you want to be in the NBA, Buddy, you need to work really hard. Take care of your body and make sure you’re eating enough nutritious food—especially while you’re growing so much.” I stumble through a few more words about how he should go for it—and I do mean what I say. But my mind scrolls through all the possible outcomes, and most don’t land him where he hopes in this moment to go. I offer encouragement, but it’s encouragement wrapped in caution tape. I don’t want him to be disappointed. And if you dream too big, well, you’re just setting yourself up for failure.
I really am the most fun mom.
***
Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
Remember watching American Idol, especially some of the early seasons, where absolutely atrocious singers would try out thinking they maybe could be the next big pop star? They stand in front of the judges and belt out a few squeaky notes, if you can call them that, and Randy Jackson would shake his head. At best, Simon would stay silent; at worst, he’d voice his unfettered opinion about how the contestant had no business being there. Sure, the bad auditions get aired for the purpose of ratings, and they sometimes go viral. The world gets far too much pleasure in watching people fail. But I certainly wouldn’t want to be the subject of that kind of entertainment. Better to stay safe than risk becoming a spectacle of failure.
I’d squirm in my seat as I watched those episodes. I’d feel the embarrassment of a bad audition seep through the TV and into my own body. My face would redden and my shoulders would tense. Why would they subject themselves to that humiliation? I’d think. Don’t they have someone in their lives who loves them enough to be honest? Don’t they have someone who can gently pull them aside and say, “Hey, I love you, but, um, I’m not sure singing is the right path for you?”
Sometimes those terrible auditions are just an act. But we’ve all seen people try things or share dreams that make us shake our heads. Really? You? You’re going to try that? If we’re close enough to the person, “in love,” we point them in a different direction. Other times we stand on the sidelines and watch them fail, like a car accident we can’t look away from.
And then for some of us, that voice—the one that speaks up “in love”—is from our own heads. We start out giddy and excited about all that might be possible, savoring the joy of doing what we love and imagining what could be. But then we list all the facts and quickly convince ourselves to retreat from anything too bold.
***
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
When my parents dropped me off at college, my dad left me with ever-wise parting words.
“Sarah, you know, you’re the cream of the crop.” I smiled. My dad often shared how proud he was of us kids, and I was grateful for his encouragement. But then he kept talking.
“The problem is, everyone else here is too,” he added. I laughed. I knew I was in over my head. I could coast in high school, but in college, my freshman year midterms offered a reality check. A few months in, I realized I had to nail that next psychology paper, because that D wasn't going to raise itself. I remember at one point calculating that I had to get a 100 on a geology project, otherwise I risked failing the class. (I’m proud to announce that I did get that 100, by the way. Apparently effort plus panic is the key to my academic success.)
Over the next few years of college life, reality continued to set in. And in many ways, that was okay. I learned what I really wanted to work hard at versus what I didn’t care so much about (like geology). My dreams of being a goalkeeper faded after a couple seasons because, while I really liked soccer, I didn’t love it enough to try to move my way up from fourth-string goalie. Where I thought I had once excelled, I met others far more skilled. Dreams met reality, and reality won by a landslide.
Sometimes, facing reality brought disappointment. Sometimes, perspective. But I’m not sure avoiding dreams altogether ever taught me anything worthwhile.
***
Practice resurrection.*
My gut instinct as a mom is to try to shield my kids from disappointment. I’m not trying to be critical; I’m being protective. But I also don’t want my kids to walk through the world with heavy armor on, gearing up for all the ways reality might hurt. I want them to walk through the world with the courage to do things that don’t always make sense to onlookers. I want them to ask questions they can’t answer and find joy even when life hits them hard. I want them to be willing to make mistakes and take good risks, taking time to explore even when they have to backtrack.
So often I try to make sure my dreams fit inside the box of reality. I’m not a risk-taking, entrepreneurial type. I’m too tired for that these days, and mostly I want to figure out what’s for dinner and how to get eight hours of sleep. But in the midst of grocery shopping and googling why I woke up again at 3 a.m., I have a running list of things I’d love to do. Yet I often find myself tempering expectations lest those dreams inflate like a balloon and pop. Write another book? Sure. But don’t expect it to sell many copies. Go back to school? Great idea. But you’ll probably never be able to pay for it. Run a marathon again, like you did back in college? Yeah, maybe a 5k is more your style these days.
I don’t want to face the disappointment, or worse, the foolishness of trying to stuff a huge dream into a tiny container. Who does she think she is? they might whisper. Who “they” are, I don’t know. Them, out there, the critics who are too busy analyzing others’ dreams to face the loss of their own. Also me, my worst critic. So I keep my dreams—and myself—small. And then I catch myself doing the same with my kids.
But doesn't making our dreams realistic defeat the purpose of dreaming altogether? Of course there are times when we need friends close enough to tell us that maybe we’re not, in fact, the next Kelly Clarkson or Michael Jordan. But what if dreaming isn’t about achieving as much as it is about discovering? What if dreaming leads to unexpected turns toward something different? And what if when reality does hit—and it will—even the death of our dreams makes way for the resurrection of something new?
*Quotes taken from Wendell Berry’s poem, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.”
After a decade of savoring soup, fending off snakes, and celebrating motherhood wins with the Coffee + Crumbs community, Sarah is entering a new season of life and work. To keep up with what she's doing, subscribe to her Substack and follow her on Instagram. You can also hear more from Sarah in her first book, All Who Are Weary, and keep an eye out for her second book (about the book of Psalms) coming out in the fall of 2027.
Photo by Jennifer Floyd.