By this dual question I assume the dream being a goal in life, in relation to a desire out of life. If not, here is a link to an article I posted recently: Why do we dream during sleep? and now let me put you in front of a very active life, I can’t start telling in details, but I’ve been on the go literally 24/7 since I can remember myself, for that you’ll have to follow an ‘infinite’ number of links: Official Author Website.
Here is an illustration, demonstrating not a dream, but a challenge at mastering impossible and only against myself.
Each of the ladders illustrate people in their own ambition, I might have stepped in a master’s tracks, to learn and pursue with the blinkers the focus of where I felt my rewards, to find that as an apprentice on construction site, now it appears the best moments like standing on a glass everything in life possible and experiences to gain. Thereafter, each step came with some luggage, but didn’t look over my shoulder I had something to achieve and that lies in front of me. What I faced is too many wayside shadow luring me off, so I decide to drop these intriguing instances coming up, and keeping the stairway which vanishes in the clouds at maintaining in focus. Each thread in progress proved like looming mammoth of a task, which had appeared so simple measured by my gained experience. I have retired from active life, and a full time writer, when it struck me, what naivety overlooks, that sense of an amateur through life. Because, as one climbs the rung, at the moment of getting to the top, already I had started at the first rung of a ladder elsewhere. But the luggage of experience grows lighter, and the professional always further, as the acquired knowledge makes one more selective, finding my way through the amateurs, this to say, I’ve been through the jungle of finding my way.
I didn’t choose what I wanted to become, but looking back my father had a typewriter when I was a head taller than a table. And, it fascinated me, then as I entered elementary school, and sat on his chair, it fascinated me the neatness by which I could write words instead what my teacher call “fly’s feet,” I guess my writing been fine and tiny. This to say, I let my instinct guide me in life, which were my dreams, and my life.