Dream Checklist
Updated: Nov 3
It took a little while, but here we are—another story for the blog!
Today, I want to share how a restless feeling became a sabbatical, a journey of self-discovery and, eventually, Pura.
I still don’t know exactly where this story will lead, but perhaps that is part of what makes it worth sharing.
Was it easy? Absolutely not. There were moments when I wondered what on earth I had done. But knowing everything I know now, I would do it all again.
If you are going through something similar, I would love to hear from you. Leave me a message, and perhaps we can share a cup of tea—even if it has to be a virtual one.
“But what do you want? Do you have a plan?”
My father asked me these questions patiently and lovingly during one of our many conversations about how unhappy and trapped I felt.
I knew something needed to change, but I couldn’t yet explain what I wanted instead.
By then, I had spent eight years working in costume production for television. The funny thing is, I had never particularly enjoyed watching TV. I could happily lose myself in a book, spend hours playing sport or explore almost any subject: food, travel, geography, music, art, biology, religion. There was so much that interested me.
For a long time, my work brought many of those interests together. There was research, creativity, storytelling and the chance to work alongside wonderful people. There were stories of love, fear, joy and heartbreak, both on screen and in our own lives behind the scenes.
I learnt so much. But gradually, I began to feel uncomfortable with some of the messages and narratives I was helping to create. The work no longer reflected my values in the way I needed it to.
Eventually, I had to admit something difficult: it was no longer where I wanted to be.
I had worked hard to build a career doing something I loved. Yet just as I found stability, I realised that my idea of a fulfilling life had changed.
Holidays, shopping and weekends with friends were no longer enough to quiet that feeling.
“Where did our courage go?”
A friend and colleague asked me this one day. We were both struggling with similar questions.
We knew the difficult bosses, the demanding routines and the relief of that one month of annual leave. We also knew the comfort of a regular salary, health insurance and the security we had worked hard to build.
Then there were the bills, the repayments and all the practical reasons to stay.
Leaving felt frightening. But so did imagining that nothing would ever change.
Those conversations stayed with me for years. At first, I thought I was questioning my career. Slowly, I realised I was questioning much more: how I spent my time, how I ate, how I connected with people and how I treated myself.
What kind of life did I actually want to live?
Letting go without having all the answers
Even as I started packing and letting go of things—my flat, furniture, car and the possessions I couldn’t take with me—I kept wondering whether I had somehow failed.
Why leave a career I had worked so hard to build? Why move away from a city where I had made a life? What had gone wrong?
I went to sleep with those questions and often woke up without answers.
With time, I began to understand that nothing had necessarily gone wrong. Something could have been right for one chapter of my life without needing to last forever.
Building and letting go were both part of moving forward.
Gradually, I began to appreciate departures as well as arrivals. Endings still brought sadness, but they also made room for new people, new experiences and possibilities I couldn’t yet imagine.
I was learning to give myself permission to change.
And I discovered that courage sometimes begins quietly: with enough space to breathe, listen to yourself and acknowledge what you already feel.
A plan to find out
I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do with my life, so I decided to make a plan to find out.
That was the beginning of my sabbatical.
I had never been someone with many fixed plans, but I had always had plenty of dreams—and a habit of finding ways to make them happen.
As I used to say:
“I didn’t want to leave my dreams on my pillow. I wanted to carry them in my backpack.”
So I wrote a list.
You know those dreams that never quite disappear? The ones we save for retirement, or for some future moment when we imagine we will have enough time or money?
I decided to give mine some attention.
My dream checklist
Learn a new language.
Volunteer.
Learn to kitesurf.
Spend more time with my parents.
Try new recipes.
Make time for myself.
Create things by hand again.
Explore what purpose meant to me.
Revisit the places of my childhood.
Support a cooperative.
Visit my brother, Grilo, in Australia.
Experience somewhere on Earth that would leave me speechless.
Swim again and rediscover my breathing.
Travel and learn about different cultures, politics, economies, religions and ways of living.
Take a trip with my family.
Some dreams were adventurous. Others were beautifully ordinary.
Looking at that list, I realised how much I wanted to make room for things I already loved.
Choosing to begin was one of the best decisions of my life. It didn’t answer every question, but it gave me the chance to explore them—and, along the way, the idea of Pura began to grow.
There are plenty more stories to tell. I would love to have you along for the journey.
Until then, I wish you a beautiful day, with time to be present and enjoy what makes you happy.
Love, Renata.
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