The following opinion piece is written, as part of Mental Health Awareness Month, by an anonymous contributor who has chosen to remain unnamed due to the deeply personal nature of this story. The experiences, emotions, and insights shared in this piece are genuine and reflect the real-life journey of someone who found the courage to rediscover their dreams later in life. We believe this story will resonate with many readers who have faced similar struggles with fear, lost dreams, and the challenge of finding oneself again.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Sometimes, that step happens to be onto an aeroplane bound for a place you never imagined would change your life.
When I was sixteen, I dreamt of becoming an air hostess. The idea of travelling the world captivated me – I was passionate about languages and fascinated by the histories of different civilisations. But then reality struck a cruel blow: I was terrified of flying. My dream of soaring through the skies crumbled before it could take flight.
So I pivoted, choosing to study journalism instead. If I couldn’t explore the world myself, perhaps I could report on it through other people’s eyes. During my bachelor’s degree, I immersed myself in languages. My mother tongue, Afrikaans, came naturally, followed by English as my second language, and Dutch – honouring the origins of my heritage. Then, almost on a whim, needing another subject beyond sociology and philosophy, I enrolled in beginner French during my first year at university. By my final year, French had become one of my majors.
It’s amusing to think that thirty years ago, I was writing essays in French and graduating cum laude, yet today I can barely string three sentences together in the language. But that’s what happens when dreams get buried under life’s weight.
When life derailed my dreams
I had such grand plans to travel the world, but then life happened. I fell in love with someone who wasn’t worthy of me, had two beautiful daughters, and devoted myself to raising them as independent women – all while sacrificing my own dreams in the process. Somewhere along the way, I lost myself completely.
Fear crept into every corner of my existence. I stopped thriving and focused solely on surviving.
After my divorce, with two small children who depended entirely on me, I moved house five times in four years – twice returning to my parents’ home like a defeated warrior seeking refuge.
My dreams of travel faded as anxiety, depression, and the daily fight for survival consumed my thoughts. This became my comfort zone, as unhealthy as it was.
While my own dreams of travelling remained just that – dreams – I lived vicariously through other people’s adventures. I refused to create a bucket list; that seemed like something for people planning to die, and I was too busy fighting to survive.
The unexpected opportunity
About five months ago, my work offered me an extraordinary opportunity: a chance to travel abroad. Not to Europe – my dream destination – but to Kenya. Interestingly, I had visited Europe about forty years ago when my parents, quite progressive for Afrikaans parents during the apartheid years, believed that alongside a tertiary education, their children should see the world upon matriculating.
They understood that travel was an education as vital as university.
But this recent opportunity to visit Nairobi filled me with terror.
First, there were the vaccinations – yellow fever protection required. How peculiar that day mosquitoes in Nairobi carry yellow fever whilst night mosquitoes carry malaria. Despite my fears, I knew I had to seize this chance.
Africa, except for Zanzibar, had never been a dream destination for me. But this was an opportunity I simply couldn’t turn down. I needed to get my passport stamped for the first time in more than thirty years—and goodness, did it get stamped! I think I passed through at least three passport controls.
The transformation
Don’t believe Google when it says an average supper in Kenya costs R300 – a bottle of inexpensive South African wine costs more than that in Kenya!
But despite the logistics and my mounting fears, something magical happened: I found my sixteen-year-old self again in Kenya.
The flight was terrifying, but I survived. Passport control was intimidating, but I survived. I have an enormous paranoia about thunderstorms, and as we landed in Kenya, one had just passed – my weather app confirmed it ominously. Yet somehow, I persevered.
Those four days in Kenya changed my life more profoundly than the previous thirty years of playing it safe. I worked harder and enjoyed every minute of my work seminar. I met inspiring people from around the globe. I experienced a country not so different from ours, despite its unique challenges. I encountered people living in nations far more oppressed than mine.
Most memorably, I met Kenyan people – mostly Uber drivers – who felt genuinely respected because I took the time to learn how to say hello and thank you in their language. It didn’t matter that I mispronounced everything; they appreciated the effort.
Embracing the storm
I swam in a pool ten storeys above the city with a thunderstorm brewing overhead. And I loved every moment of it. Who would have thought that something I feared so deeply could give me back thirty years of my life?
For four days, I could breathe freely. Despite my fears, I found joy in simple moments – seeing someone smile because I’d butchered their language but at least tried to speak it.
I discovered that courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s feeling the fear and moving forward anyway.
The awakening
Yes, I found myself in Kenya. My passport bears its first stamps in more than thirty years, and they feel like badges of honour. Each stamp represents a fear conquered, a boundary crossed, a dream resurrected.
I feel ready to conquer the world now. Not because my fears have disappeared—they haven’t—but because I’ve learned they don’t have to control me. That sixteen-year-old girl who dreamt of seeing the world is still alive within me, and she’s finally ready to spread her wings.
Sometimes we think our dreams have an expiration date, that we’ve missed our chance. But Kenya taught me that it’s never too late to rediscover who you’re meant to be.
The world is still waiting, and so are our dreams—we just need the courage to take that first frightening, exhilarating step towards them.
