Dreams Don't Clock Out
Dreams Don’t Clock Out
I was driving home from another twelve-hour shift at the metal shop. My hands were beat up, my clothes reeked of steel and sweat, and my head was somewhere else entirely. I was talking to a friend—someone I trust, someone who’s been in the trenches with me—about this life I’ve been fighting to build. Somewhere in that conversation, without even thinking about it, the words came out of nowhere. “Dreams don’t clock out.” As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. They don’t. Not for me, anyway.
It’s like they’re always there. Gnawing at me when I’m trying to sleep. Pulling at me when I’m already spent. Chasing me through every quiet moment, demanding more when I’ve got nothing left. They don’t care that I’ve already put in a full day of hard labor. They don’t care that I’m exhausted or that my body’s begging me to take a break. They’re always there, whispering: keep going. And the thing is, I do. Because I’ve always seen the world as divided into two kinds of people—the dreamers and the creators, and everyone else.
Some people can live inside the lines. They can punch the clock, collect the paycheck, and find their peace in the in-between. They sleep easy. They wait for the weekend. And they’re fine with that. But there’s another group—my group—the ones who can’t turn it off. The ones who lie awake at night thinking about what they need to build, the life they can’t let go of. The ones who don’t clock out when the day ends because their real work is just getting started. We’re the ones who show up when we’re tired. Who keep going when nobody’s watching. Who chase something bigger, even when it feels impossible.
Some days, the path is clear. I can see exactly where I’m headed. I know what I need to do, and I move through the work like it’s already mine. Other days, it’s like feeling around in the dark. I’m not sure if I’m making the right moves. I’m second-guessing every decision. I’m worn down and wondering if this is all just a waste of time. But even on those days, I show up. I keep moving. Because the dream hasn’t let go of me—and I’m not about to let go of it.
I’m still working in the shop. Still clocking in early, still grinding steel, still doing the work that pays the bills but doesn’t build the future I want. But when I clock out, that’s when my real work begins. I’m building something of my own. A life I choose. A future that doesn’t happen to me but is created by me. I’m fighting for a life where the struggle is mine to pick. Where the dirt under my nails comes from building something I believe in—not from doing work that wears me down but never lifts me up.
I don’t mind hard work. I’ve never been afraid to get my hands dirty. What I mind is when that work builds someone else’s dream instead of mine. That’s why I keep going. That’s why I’m still writing late at night, building the Gay Men’s Field Guide, and chasing something more. I’m not in this for easy. I’m in this for freedom—the freedom to choose what kind of work I put my life into. The freedom to wake up and know the hard days are the ones I picked because they mean something.
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Dreams don’t clock out. They never have. And neither do I. This is my dream, and I just can't walk away.
If you’re still grinding for something better, if you’re still chasing a life you can call your own, you get it. You know what it’s like to be kept up at night by an idea you can’t shake. You know what it’s like to want something more and to fight for it—every day, whether the path is clear or pitch black.
This is for us—the dreamers, the creators, the ones who refuse to settle. We’re the ones who keep building, no matter how long it takes. Because we know there’s no clocking out when you’re building the life you want. I couldn't have it any other way.
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