We all carry modest dreams we can’t afford, the ordinary things that quietly shape who we are. This is a midlife reflection on the small, meaningful dreams we’ve left behind along the way, and on reconnecting with the parts of ourselves we abandoned for practicality, responsibility, or survival. If there’s something simple yet important you still think about after all these years, maybe my own unfulfilled dream will help you finally acknowledge yours.
The Dreams We Can’t Afford and the Selves We Left Behind
Table of Contents
The Modest Dream I’ve Never Been Able to Afford
What’s the normal thing you’ve never been able to do that you still think about?
For me, it’s walking into a showroom and buying a new vehicle. I’m 57, and I’ve never done it.
Not because I think I’m too good for new cars or motorcycles. Because I haven’t been able to. Not without loans I didn’t want to take on. Not without sacrificing something else that mattered more at the time. That tension of chasing dreams versus chasing money is what I’m still figuring it out.
I came close once. In my late twenties, making decent money in the USA; I test-drove a Pontiac Transam WS6. It was everything you’d imagine, fast, loud, completely impractical, but exciting. Banks were practically throwing loans at people back then. I could have signed the papers.
But life moved on. And every vehicle since has been pretty average or very cheap. Which has been fine. Totally fine. These are the modest dreams we can’t afford that we learn to live without, until suddenly, we can’t stop thinking about them again.
Except, now I’m thinking about it again, I’m realizing it’s not really just about the car or motorcycle.
What’s the normal thing you’ve never done that you still think about?
The Long Middle: How I Stopped Moving Through the World
Here’s what happened: I stopped caring about movement.
In my twenties, I loved driving. I had a secondhand Renault 5 GT Turbo. It was nothing too fancy, but it was mine and I loved it. I was the guy who volunteered to drive, so friends could drink. Sometimes on my midnight break from the computer data center where I worked, I’d ask security to open the gates just so I could go out and drive. No destination. Just freedom and a faster pace.
Later, I moved to Japan. Trains replaced cars. Work became teaching in schools. Home became a PC and internet connection. I had lived in the UK, France, the USA, and then Japan. But once I arrived somewhere, I felt little need to explore. After work, I settled in with my screen and stayed put.
For years, this worked. I didn’t think about it much.
And then something in me changed. I’m not even sure what triggered it, honestly. Maybe it was my version of trying to turn my life around.
What makes us suddenly remember who we used to be?
A Quiet Midlife Awakening at 57
Five years ago, I started doing farm work. My boss occasionally needed me to go on a couple of work trips around Japan. Nothing dramatic happened on those trips. But something quiet did: I remembered what it felt like to move through the world instead of just living on a screen.
I saw mountains and the sea for the first time in ages. I started appreciating the culture that had supported me all these years but hadn’t really been part of my context during English lessons.
Looking at that scenery, I found myself thinking about all the people through the centuries who’d defended it, worked it, and lived on it. People greater than me who’d made it what it was.
My Dream Motorcycle
I started thinking about motorcycles again. Specifically, the Yamaha Niken GT when it was released. A design of bike which offers me a completely new chapter, not a rinse and repeat of my biking days in the past. I even started a whole separate blog about it, NikenPeeps, even though I don’t own the bike, yet. (Yeah, I started a blog about a motorcycle I don’t even own. That’s either dedication or a bit sad, I’m not sure which.)
That small blog helped me keep my mind busy after my wife left for America, and gave me something to focus on. Finding things that keep you steady during transitions – that’s part of still learning balance. And honestly? That blog has connected me to a few people, including a Yamaha dealer now. Maybe there’s something to that whole Law of Attraction thing. Who knows.
I thought about cars too. I’ve spent years watching YouTube reviews, following entire lifespans of vehicles, like the Honda Civic Type R FK8 coming and going before I could ever drive one, then the FL5 arriving while my life stayed exactly the same. More recently, it’s the Hyundai Ioniq 5N. It’s like I’ve been watching time pass through product cycles instead of through actual experiences.
I’ve never even driven a car with a digital dash. I still don’t have the funds to get one, but the dream lives on.
And here’s what I realized: it’s not just about the vehicles.
It’s about reclaiming a part of myself I left behind somewhere between my twenties and now. The part that used to drive at midnight just because. The part that wanted to move and explore and be in the world instead of just connected to it through cables.
In my 30’s, I drove a rental van from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, to Los Angeles, California. That has to be one of the loveliest feelings of freedom I’ve ever experienced. I’m pretty sure that all these years later, my spirit is calling me to do a road trip like that again!
So what would I actually be buying if I walked into that showroom?
What the Dream Really Means About Identity
If I could walk into that showroom and buy that motorcycle, just once, just to have done it, here’s what I’d actually be buying:
The ability to ride to a Yamaha event and meet other Niken riders. To meet the Japanese Yamaha dealer YouTubers I’ve watched for years, although I don’t speak the language well. To try, genuinely, to belong to something outside my classroom – where I obviously represent “English” – but not necessarily myself, and be more part of Japan.
Or maybe I’d end up back in the UK helping my dad, and I could ride there instead. Different roads, same freedom.
If it were a car, something like that Civic Type R or Ioniq 5N, I’d drive to Cars and Coffee. Something I’ve watched countless times on YouTube but never attended. Just show up, not too old to be there, part of something.
I’m not a showoff kind of guy. I once walked home with a new bicycle I’d saved up for, and felt uncomfortable pushing it through busy neighborhoods where that kind of bike probably wasn’t an option for people. I resonated more with those people who were maybe struggling for money, than I did for myself finally having and owning a shiny new toy.
Time is moving on, though. We all deserve to tick off a dream or two. I wouldn’t make a YouTube video about buying a new vehicle. I wouldn’t need special attention from sales staff.
But I would want to share the moment quietly with someone who mattered. Someone who’d understand it wasn’t about the thing itself, it was about finally having access to something that’s been out of reach for my entire adult life. A small success. A quiet win.
And then I’d use it. I’d explore Japan, the country I’ve lived in for twenty years but haven’t really seen. I’d give people rides. Literal and metaphorical. I’d move through the world again instead of just existing in it.
This probably sounds silly. But it’s honest.
Have you ever done that? Lived somewhere for years and never actually explored it?
Your Version: The Ordinary Thing You Still Think About
So what’s your version of this topic? What are the modest dreams we can’t afford that still live quietly in the back of your mind? I don’t mean your million-dollar fantasy. I mean the human-scale thing you’ve never been able to do that you still think about
Maybe it’s:
- A new couch (not secondhand, not handed down, just yours from the beginning)
- A tailored suit that actually fits
- First-class flight somewhere you’ve always wanted to go
- A nice watch
- Taking a cooking class
- Joining a club or group where you’d finally belong
- Hiring someone to deep-clean your house just once
The thing that would make your life better without needing to be a big deal to anyone else.
We don’t talk about these modest dreams we can’t afford much, do we? Maybe because they sound materialistic. Or silly. Or because we feel guilty wanting things when others have less. Maybe because admitting we still haven’t achieved something “normal” feels like we’ve somehow failed at being an adult.
But these aren’t greedy dreams. They’re human ones.
And they’re often not really about the thing at all. They’re about the version of yourself you’d reclaim by having it. The life you’d live. The belonging you’d feel. The movement you’d rediscover.
Why don’t we give ourselves permission to want the modest things?
Permission to Want the Small Things That Matter
You’re allowed to want the normal thing you’ve never had.
You’re allowed to dream about it even if you can’t afford it yet. Even if you never get it.
It’s okay to name it without shame.
And if you ever get it, quietly, without fanfare, you’re allowed to feel good about it.
Not because it makes you better than anyone else.
Because it reconnects you with a part of yourself you thought you’d left behind. Or maybe never got to become in the first place.
I’m curious. Not just about the thing itself, but about what it would mean to you if you had it.
What part of yourself would you reclaim?
Consider sharing your thoughts below. I respond to every comment, and your experience often helps others more than mine does.
