Still Dreaming, Still Doing—Age Has Nothing to Do With It

There’s this unspoken message out there that dreaming is for the young.
That there’s a window—and if you didn’t climb through it by a certain age, well, maybe you missed your chance.

I never bought into that.

I’m still dreaming.
And I don’t plan to stop.

Maybe the dreams look a little different now.
They aren’t about proving anything. They’re not rooted in hustle or urgency or making someone else proud.

They’re slower. Quieter. Deeper.
They’re about meaning.
About impact.
About waking up and feeling aligned with the woman I am now—not the one I used to be, or the one I thought I was supposed to become.

And truth be told, I’ve never been afraid to try.
That doesn’t mean everything’s gone perfectly.
But I’ve always believed in doing the thing anyway.
Even if it’s messy. Even if someone doesn’t understand it.

Because let’s be honest: there will always be naysayers.
There will always be someone who thinks your dream is too big, too small, too unrealistic, too late.
Let them talk.

It’s okay to step outside the box.
And it’s also okay to stay inside it—if that’s where your peace lives.
You don’t have to do it like everyone else.
You just have to do it in a way that feels true to you.

And for me? I need to have dreams.
Some people call them goals. I just happen to call them dreams.
Because without them, life would feel a little too quiet.
Too predictable.
Too... settled.
Dreams keep me reaching. They keep me curious. They keep me alive.

And maybe that’s part of why I keep dreaming.
Because somewhere deep down, I never wanted to look back and say, “What if?”
Even if I fall short, at least I’ll know I showed up.
That I stayed in it. That I kept going.
That I chose purpose over comfort—and curiosity over certainty.

I thank God daily for the supportive people in my life.
The ones who encourage and challenge and remind me there’s still more ahead.

So yes—I'm still dreaming at 60.

I’ve got ideas I haven’t tried, places I want to go, women I want to gather around the table. There’s still more to write, more to say, more to feel. More to give.

I haven’t bloomed late—I’ve just kept blooming.
And with each season, the roots grow deeper.
More grounded. More honest. More mine.

Here’s to dreaming with open eyes and open hands.
Here’s to doing the things we once thought we’d never do.
And here’s to knowing that your dreams—at any age—still matter.