I'm a teacher. If you believed half the headlines, you'd think today's students are lazy, disengaged, addicted to their phones, and riddled with mental health issues. You might feel the urge to feel sorry for me, but please don’t.

One day, a student stayed behind, eyes wide, posture tense. "I can't sleep," he said quietly. "I can't stop thinking about this project." Looked scared, not indifferent. Not broken. Just… overwhelmed.

That moment stirred something in me. Because I know that feeling. Often, after achieving something I've longed for, something I've worked toward, even celebrated, there's a strange emptiness inside. A silent drop. A hole where I expected whole.

I should feel full. I feel hollow. Hopelessly.

it started years ago. I remember. I attended a leadership conference. One of those "life-changing" events where a polished guru barked at us to dream BIG.

Moon-shot.

Set massive goals. Think infinite. Be bold, brave, boundless. It's everywhere: on mugs, in self-help books, on motivational posters, on the glittery feeds of "influencers" who never seem tired.

In my EMBA, we were taught to chase the BHAG: Big Hairy Audacious Goal. But somewhere along the way, that goal grew claws. It stopped being a dream and became a monster.

Not like the gentle giant blue Cookie Monster we loved as kids. This one doesn't eat cookies. It devours sleep. Joy. Confidence. Hope. You.

And I wonder: What if this obsession with dreaming big is the very thing stealing our ability to dream at all?

I look at my students, helpless: bright, burdened, flooded with expectations they never asked for. The pressure doesn't lift them. It crushes them. I don't see failure. I see a system that never taught them how to hope safely.

We assume hope comes naturally, but for many, especially the young, it must be learned. And when it isn't, hopelessness takes root; quiet, heavy, and hard to name.

Worldwide, 1 in 7 adolescents struggles with mental health issues. Suicide is the third leading cause of death among youth. Yes, a tragedy.

And we wonder why?

The truth is, I don't know why. But I try to answer. Maybe it's because we told them that unless their dream is massive, it doesn't matter. That if they're not changing the world, they're wasting time.

We've confused ambition with hope. But they're not the same.

Hope is quieter. Hope fits in your hand, walks beside you, fills you, makes you complete. It multiplies and drives action, not anxiety. Ambition often towers over you and whispers: not enough.

When we lose the ability to dream safely, we fill the hole with noise. Curated success. Empty affirmations. Applause that doesn't echo in the soul. And when our brain senses danger or futility, it shuts us down. The dorsal raphe kicks in. We freeze.

Just like the elephant who grows up chained, and never learns the chain could be broken, we let this monster devour our kids.

Sometimes, it's not trauma. It's conditioning. Not laziness, but neurological helplessness.

Perhaps dreaming big isn't always good advice. Maybe when a dream is too big, it stops being a dream, and starts being a threat. We feel small. Powerless. Like Alice after drinking the wrong potion.

I remember something a student once told me, "I love my best friend so much. She is so full of joy, I wish I could shrink her and carry her in my pocket, always with me. So close."

At the time, I smiled. Now, I think she was onto something.

That's what we should do with our dreams. Shrink them until they fit in our pocket. Make them small enough to carry, yet meaningful enough to grow.

A pocket dream gives you strength. You can hold it, nurture it, and work toward it without fear. You gradually expand your ability to act, to achieve, to learn, to hope. Until you become bigger than your dream.

And that's when it comes true.

This is what I teach. I call it Happyshifting, it’s not toxic positivity, not denial, but the gentle practice of shifting focus from fear to forward motion. From chasing impossible goals to nurturing portable ones. From the hole to the whole.

Draw your dream. Give it hands, feet, a head, and a heart. Paint it blue, or yellow, or green. Make it kind. Make it human. Make it yours. And make sure it's never bigger than you.

That's where hope lives.

In dreams we can carry, not the ones that carry us away.