I have embraced various dreams and goals during my life. When I was three, I wanted to be a princess. I wanted to be an environmental activist when I was five. At the age of nine, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I carried that dream until I was twelve, when I decided I wanted to be a singer, among other fleeting dreams. I basked in the joy of the idea until I was about seventeen. I came to a harsh realization that year, which was that this is real life, and I must have feasible dreams. I examined lists of careers, but I felt I would be maladroit performing most of them. I had an assignment my senior year to research the career I desire. I started searching for jobs that made a reputable amount of money and that abducted my interest. I did my paper on becoming a pharmacist. I adopted that idea until my second year at college, when I changed my major to nursing. Years pass hastily, and I miss being a teenager with unwavering ideas and endless faith in my dreams and aspirations. I sometimes wonder if the dreams I once had are still fed by an unwavering ember. It would be a shame for those dreams to be truly lost. I like to believe they have a haven inside, and I need only find them to be inspirited, to believe anything is possible, and to believe dreams should not be feasible.
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