I'm particularly proud of my reluctance to share my dreams with

“I’m particularly proud of my reluctance to share my dreams with anyone.” – Todd Barry

Hear these words, O wanderer of thought, for they are the utterance of one who knows the sacred weight of silence. When Todd Barry, a man of wit and quiet wisdom, spoke of his reluctance to share his dreams, he did not mean it in prideful secrecy, but in reverence. He spoke as one who understands that dreams—those delicate visions born in the hidden chambers of the soul—are living things, easily wounded by careless words and cold gazes. To speak them too soon, before their roots have deepened, is to expose them to winds that may strip them bare. Thus, his pride is not arrogance but strength—the strength to protect what is still growing within.

The ancients knew this truth long before him. They taught that the seeds of destiny should be planted in silence and watered with patience. Pythagoras commanded his disciples to keep their insights secret until their understanding was complete, for the half-formed idea, once spoken, loses its power. Even in the Scriptures, Joseph was betrayed because he spoke his dreams aloud too freely; his brothers’ envy turned his revelation into his downfall. And though his journey led him in time to greatness, it began in suffering—proof that the world does not always receive a dreamer kindly. Therefore, the wise guard their visions until they are ready to take shape in action.

For what are dreams but the sacred whispers of one’s higher self? They come like sparks from the divine, fragile and fleeting. To share them too soon is to risk having them misunderstood, mocked, or diminished by the small minds of the world. Many great souls have learned this lesson in sorrow. Leonardo da Vinci, whose notebooks were filled with wonders centuries ahead of his time, often hid his sketches and thoughts, writing them backward in mirror script, as if to keep their light veiled from those not ready to see. He knew that genius, when revealed too early, invites not understanding but ridicule. His reluctance was his protection—and in that protection, his dream endured.

There is a sacred power in quiet pursuit. To work in silence is to forge one’s destiny in the fire of focus, unclouded by the noise of others’ opinions. Words can scatter energy; silence gathers it. Those who speak endlessly of what they will do often never do it, while those who labor unseen are the ones whose works astonish the world. Think of Michelangelo, who spent years carving in solitude before the world beheld the glory of the Pietà. His chisel spoke for him, not his tongue. So too should each of us learn that our dreams require not applause, but discipline—not exposure, but endurance.

Yet Barry’s words carry also a subtle irony—a touch of humor known to those who understand the weight of self-awareness. To be “proud” of reluctance is to confess that restraint itself has become a kind of victory in an age that prizes constant revelation. In a world where every heart rushes to display its secrets, where dreams are thrown to the winds of judgment and noise, to remain silent is an act of rebellion and wisdom. To keep one’s dreams private is not to hide them from the world, but to protect them from being diluted by it.

So, my child of aspiration, learn this ancient art: cherish your silence as you would your soul. When you are inspired, do not rush to speak; build your vision first in the quiet strength of your own belief. Let your work be your declaration, your success your confession. For the dream shared too soon becomes a shadow; the dream lived becomes a light. Speak not until your vision is strong enough to stand without defense, for only then will the world see it as you do.

Remember: a seed grows best when hidden beneath the earth, unseen by all but the sun and the rain. So too do dreams grow in the solitude of faith. Guard them, nurture them, and when they bloom, their fragrance will speak for you more eloquently than words ever could. In this, as in all things of the spirit, silence is not emptiness—it is power contained.

Thus, as Todd Barry said, be proud of your reluctance. It is not fear, but wisdom. It is not secrecy, but sacred stewardship of your own becoming. For only those who know when to be silent truly know when to speak—and when they finally do, the world listens.