I wonder about the deleterious effects of achieving dreams.
The timeline is nebulous, but as far back as I can recall I'd had a fascination with Japan. Not just in the typical weeby anime way, but in the holier-than-thou, let me tell you about the history of the shogunate and this weird-ass instrument, everything to do with the place kind of way. I developed a single-minded determination to somehow get there and stay as long as possible, which culminated in picking up a bachelor's degree (and the associated debt) to get a teacher's visa and living/working there for three years. No guidance from anyone in life on whether this was a good idea, or what to do if I changed my mind. Which I did, after less than two years, realising it was horrifically isolating and ostracizing and that I had to gtfo.
One other "dream" I remember having around age 11 was to be an explorer. Whatever that means. I'd been playing a video game that had me going to far-flung locales all modeled on distinct regions of the natural world - deserts, jungles, tundras - and the idea of really going to such a variety of places tantalized me. To a scaled-back extend I did this after leaving Japan, traveling to a few places in SE Asia, Western Europe, and Central America. Never made it to a desert (sadly) or tundra (changed my mind, cold is shit); there are still some general/specific places it'd be nice to see.
But after having lived the life I have, I know it's all just chasing dragons. It'd be nice then just be a checked-off item on a list. We move from one thing to the next; satisfy one dopamine hit and need to seek out another.