As a writer, I face no bigger struggle than that of keeping hope alive. Hope that I’ll get an agent, and that she’ll get me a publisher. Hope that I’ll see my book on someone’s bookshelf. Hope that if I self-publish someone will read my stuff, maybe even like it.

I suppose most of us can say the same, no matter what our chosen profession or deep-held aspirations. But writers and other creatives may grapple with a special corner of this wrestling match between imagining and envisioning art, and the more practical realization that the dreams we hold dear for our lives may not come to fruition.

Fearing I will run pedantic and self-serving—in a pity-me way—I will not say much more about this struggle except that, yeah, I wage it every day. I would, however, like to dwell a bit longer on the alternative path we often take, namely, the setting aside or foregoing of our hopes and dreams, if nothing else, because they seem impractical or too impossible to achieve.

We should always lead responsible lives. That means paying off the bills and supplying the needs of our loved ones as well as our own. Chasing dreams should never take us away from the impact we have on others. Our personal needs should not drive us to neglect others or to ignore personal responsibility. What happens to our dreams, however, especially the hard ones, when a tight embrace on the practical leaves no room for our hopes?

The key, as usual, is balance. Being responsible, as it turns out, should incorporate a proper acknowledgment and pursuit of our dreams.

As this ancient proverb (with a capital P, as it turns out) tells us, something happens inside us when we let go of hope and stop reaching for our dreams. Something shrivels inside us when we abandon our aspirations. We die a little. Been there done that, fifteen years ago when I set aside writing, too frustrated with the get-me-published process to keep going. I’m back. I’m not there yet. But the dream lives on, and I’m loving the journey.