Sometimes I wake at night in the White House and rub my eyes and

“Sometimes I wake at night in the White House and rub my eyes and wonder if it is not all a dream.” — Thus spoke Grover Cleveland, the twenty-second and twenty-fourth President of the United States, a man of humble origin who rose, by faith and labor, to the highest seat of power. In this quiet confession, uttered in the stillness of night, we glimpse the heart of a man who, amid the grandeur of command, never lost sight of the wonder of his journey. His words are both tender and profound — a meditation on destiny, humility, and the fragile line that separates dream from reality.

Cleveland was not born into wealth or privilege. He was a man of the people, who worked his way from a modest clerkship to the presidency. To him, the White House was not a palace of entitlement, but a miracle of merit — a testament to perseverance and the mysterious grace of opportunity. When he speaks of waking in the night and rubbing his eyes, he is not merely recounting a moment of disbelief; he is voicing the eternal wonder that visits all who rise beyond what they once imagined possible. For when a man who once toiled in obscurity finds himself crowned with responsibility and glory, he cannot help but ask: Is this truly my life, or am I still dreaming?

In those silent hours, surrounded by the weight of history, Cleveland’s humility spoke louder than any proclamation. He did not boast of his power; he marveled at it. He saw the presidency not as a throne, but as a trust — a sacred calling that demanded gratitude and self-reflection. His astonishment reveals a truth the ancients often taught: that the wise man, when raised to greatness, remains ever aware of his smallness before the divine. For it is humility, not pride, that keeps the soul from being consumed by its own ascent.

This feeling of unreality, of living inside one’s own dream, has visited many who achieved the impossible. Abraham Lincoln, too, is said to have walked the White House halls in the night, lost in thought, wondering at the strange fate that had carried him from a log cabin to the nation’s helm. And beyond politics, every soul who has endured hardship and then tasted triumph has known that same trembling awe — the moment when one’s own life feels like a story told by another hand. For greatness, when honestly earned, always feels larger than oneself.

But there is another meaning hidden in Cleveland’s words. The dream he speaks of is not only one of wonder, but of responsibility. Dreams are beautiful, yet they are fleeting — and power, like a dream, can dissolve with the dawn. Perhaps he feared waking to find it all gone: the trust of the people, the faith of the nation, the fragile unity he had been chosen to protect. Thus, his nightly reflection was not merely amazement, but also a vow — a reminder that dreams must be tended with vigilance, lest they fade. For every achievement, if left unguarded, can crumble into illusion once more.

The lesson, therefore, is twofold: first, to remain humble before fortune, and second, to stay awake within the dream of success. When life grants us more than we thought possible — whether honor, love, or prosperity — we must not grow numb to its wonder, nor careless of its weight. The wise man pauses, as Cleveland did, to recognize the miracle, and then to ask: How shall I preserve it? How shall I deserve it?

To the seekers of our age, remember this: should your dreams come true, do not forget the humility that first gave them birth. Wake often in gratitude, as Cleveland did, and let wonder renew your strength. Rub your eyes and look around you — not to doubt your blessings, but to cherish them. For when one can stand at the summit of life and still feel the awe of the climb, that soul remains pure, unspoiled by pride.

Thus, the wisdom of Grover Cleveland endures: even at the height of power, he remembered the ground from which he rose. His words remind us that success without humility becomes vanity, but success with wonder becomes grace. So live your own dream fully, yet humbly. When it comes true, pause in the quiet of your own White House — whatever it may be — and whisper, as he did: Is it not all a dream? And in that whisper, you will find not doubt, but reverence — the true mark of a soul that understands both destiny and gratitude.