Finding the Balance Between Dreams and Reality
I stood in front of the sculpture, mesmerized.
At first, all I saw was a person flying — arms open, body lifted, free.
It was only after a few moments that I noticed the truth: the legs were being held.
They weren’t really flying.
Something in me paused.
How often do we look at someone or even at ourselves and see only the flight, not the supports that make it possible?
That sculpture, simple and silent, whispered a question I haven’t been able to shake:
How do we balance our dreams of flying with the need to stay grounded?
The Myth That Never Gets Old
The image instantly brought to mind the ancient Greek myth of Icarus.
Daedalus, his father, crafted wings of feathers and wax so they could escape imprisonment. He warned Icarus:
“Don’t fly too close to the sun — or too low to the sea.”
But Icarus, carried away by joy and freedom, soared higher and higher.
The wax melted.
He fell.
For centuries, this story has been retold as a cautionary tale about ambition without awareness— the danger of chasing dreams without respecting limits.
But I’ve always wondered: maybe the lesson isn’t to avoid flying high, but to learn how to fly safely.
Between Sky and Ground
Standing before that sculpture, I realized the “ground” isn’t just beneath our feet — it’s everything that keeps us steady: our health, relationships, values, time, and energy.
When we forget those, we risk burning out, physically or emotionally.
Psychologists even describe something called the Icarus complex: a pattern where over-ambition leads to self-sabotage. We push too hard, expect too much, and end up falling under the weight of our own wings.
Research in goal-setting theory supports this:
People who break their dreams into small, realistic steps are more likely to succeed — and to stay motivated. Each achievable step builds confidence, what is called self-efficacy— the belief that I can do this.
In other words, we don’t have to clip our wings — we just need to pace our flight.
When Flight Becomes Freedom, Not Escape
Dreaming big is vital. Studies in positive psychology show that aspirations and purpose increase happiness, motivation, and even physical well-being.
But dreams turn toxic when they disconnect from reality — when they become about proving something instead of becoming something.
That’s when we lose sight of the “why.”
As I stood there, I asked myself:
- What keeps me grounded when I dream big?
- Who holds my legs when I’m ready to fly?
- And how often do I thank those people or systems that quietly keep me steady?
In therapy, I often remind clients that “ground” doesn’t mean limitation— it means foundation.
Without it, even the most beautiful wings won’t last.
Learning the Middle Flight
Daedalus didn’t tell Icarus not to fly. He told him to fly not too high, not too low.
That balance is the essence of psychological health — what called the golden mean: the space between deficiency and excess.
In modern terms, this is self-regulation— the ability to stay connected to your emotions, goals, and environment without getting swept away.
Mindfulness research supports this balance: awareness of the present moment can keep us from overreaching or underliving.
So maybe the art of living well isn’t about choosing between the ground and the sky.
It’s about learning to navigate between them — feeling the wind, respecting the limits, and trusting the rhythm.
The Sculpture’s Quiet Lesson
When I finally stepped back from the sculpture, I smiled.
Maybe we all look like we’re flying, but we’re all being held in some way — by love, by gravity, by the invisible threads of responsibility, by time itself.
And that’s not a flaw.
It’s what makes flight possible.
So, as we chase our dreams, whatever our “sun” might be, may we remember this:
Don’t stop flying.
Just fly with awareness.
Fly with gratitude for the ground that holds you, the people who steady you, and the wisdom that reminds you when to rest your wings.
Because the goal isn’t to escape the ground.
It’s to rise, return, and rise again — wiser each time.
