Does Being “Realistic” Trap Us in Cages?

Realism: defined as the practice of honesty and truth-telling in a perception of life. The antonyms of realism: “incorrectness,” "erroneousness.” Both mean the state of being false, of perceiving falsely.

We are told to be “realistic” from the moment we start to dream as children. Flying to the moon? Not realistic. Becoming a US Senator? Far too out of our league. We hear our parents say it out of love. We hear our teachers say it to structure our education and youthhood. We hear it from our friends out of habit and out of spite. But truly, is there a benefit to knocking down our dreams? Or does realism, the sphere of “being realistic,” build invisible cages around us? Does it limit us? Does it take away our ability to think outside of boxes? To be individualistic and different? To innovate and progress?

Being realistic sounds so noble. It grounds us, keeps us practical and keeps us supposedly safe. But the invisible cages collapse when we remember that realism depends solely on one, differing object: our perceptions. What is seen truthfully through the eyes of one may be entirely false in the eyes of another, so then what is real? What is realistically possible for one might be generally impossible for another, again, what becomes real? It is our experiences, and our privileges, and our fears too that shape what we believe to be real. My foot might become your finger. My nightmare, your fantasy. So, it is that our reality is not fixed, it is calculated and formed and artistically drawn in color, whimsic and magical. 

When the world tells you that opportunity is scarce, and that you dream too big and too far, or that “people like you” won’t make it, the chances are too small; then your own version of what is real and possible becomes limited in light of their narrative. It is not truth, it’s conditioning dressed up as wisdom and support. And we mistake other people’s limits for universal facts, and we carry them like they’re our own. We think we’re responsible by knowing our place, our footing, but so often we’re just walking in the footsteps of someone else’s story in reflection of what they think to be existent.

And that’s the thing about being realistic. It is not neutral nor natural. It is deeply, deeply personal. It's filtered through our histories, our traumas, our cultures, and the voices that raised us. Realism, in that sense, is not bound to tell the truth. It is solely the mirror that reflects what we’ve been taught to see behind the whites of our own eyes. To a person who may have only known rejection, realism may look like protection. For someone who has been rewarded for risk in the past, realism might look like expansion. The idea of what is realistic is never objective; it’s the sum of our perspectives, stitched together by what we’ve been told and taught to believe.

When we start to see realism this way, it becomes clear how easily it can become a cage. It quietly limits what we allow ourselves to pursue. It tells us not to apply for that job because “people don’t get jobs like that.” It keeps us from expressing love because “it probably won’t work out.” It convinces us that our dreams are naive, our art is frivolous, our voice too small, our dreams too farfetched. And once that belief sets in, we begin to self-police, self-doubt. Staying inside the lines we’ve drawn for ourselves, calling it “being realistic,” when really, maybe all it is, is fear disguised as logic and conformity. 

Of course, being completely detached from reality isn’t the goal either. We need grounding, structure, logic, and a sense of what’s sustainable. But when we treat realism as the ceiling instead of the floor, we stop growing as individuals. The most transformative things in history: the art, invention, revolution, healing, were all unrealistic until someone decided to believe in them. Someone had to see beyond what was in order to imagine what could be.

Maybe being unrealistic is actually a form of courage. Maybe it’s the quiet rebellion of refusing to let the current version of the world define your limits. The choice to believe that your personal reality can widen and your perception can evolve, that what is realistic for you today might not be realistic for you tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe that is a great thing. Because the moment we stop questioning what feels “real,” we stop preventing growth.

So maybe the better question isn’t “what is realistic?” but rather, “whose reality am I living in?” And if it’s not one you consciously chose, or a truth you factually felt, maybe it’s time to start dreaming again: recklessly, intentionally, and beyond the limits of what anyone calls realistic.

To keep us questioning, I extend to you the question of: what might change in your life if you stopped trying to be realistic?