Since childhood, I carried a dream with me. It was to become a shepherd—playing the flute on a green meadow while leading hundreds of sheep. The dream was so vivid that when my second-grade teacher asked each student, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I answered without hesitation: “A shepherd.” The teacher, who was calling on more than eighty children one by one in a businesslike manner, dropped his pen to the floor and burst into laughter the moment he heard my reply.

Decades have passed since then, but my longing to be a shepherd has never changed. One day, during a family gathering, I said that I wished to own a ranch and raise sheep there. My eldest son-in-law interjected: “Perhaps you could keep a few as pets!” My husband and children all spoke up together: “Not just a few—she wants to raise hundreds!” My son-in-law jumped in protest: “Mother, you could never do that. How could you bear sending them off to the slaughterhouse?” I had to admit he was right.

Last summer, hearing that a relative of one of our church members raised sheep, I went to visit with several friends. As we approached the ranch, my heart began to race. Just as I had imagined, hundreds of sheep grazed peacefully on a picture-like meadow halfway up the mountain. I was deeply satisfied at the sight. But as soon as I stepped out of the cool car, the suffocating heat and blazing sun were unbearable, and the swarms of mosquitoes and insects were overwhelming. Though it was still morning, the ranch owner, resting in the shade, called the sheep and pretended to feed them for our sake. The sheep bleated in chorus and rushed toward him like soldiers. Yet when they discovered the trough was empty, they turned away as one and went back without a glance.

The owner then led us to the barn, where food and hay were stored. There, I noticed a single fat ram tied up inside a pen. He explained that this ram was given special treatment for breeding purposes. But seeing it made me uneasy. The owner pointed out the many tools—lined up like monsters—needed for sheep farming, and the more I learned, the more my dream of being a shepherd shattered. My companions, sensing my disappointment, teased me: “So, what do you think? This is the reality of your dream!”

Dreams are like stars in the night sky—beautiful simply to think about. But when I finally met the dream I had cherished all my life, it turned out to be nothing more than a field of sweat and labor I could not endure. In truth, the dream had already lived with me through the difficult days I wanted to escape, the burdens I complained about.

This year, I resolve not to chase my dream from afar, not to postpone it to “someday.” Instead, I will focus on today—seeing, feeling, and touching the present moment. I will not dream of anything beyond that.