Reality is so mundane. Dreams can take us anywhere. Anytime.
And yet, my dreams are for the most part my reality. I don't mean this in a particularly cheerful way. Instead what I mean to suggest is that my life in dreams is more often than not uncomfortably similar to my waking life. On any given morning I find myself shaking myself awake from recurring visions of managing groups of kids. "Herding cats" as we say in the education biz. Once I get myself up and moving around, I hop on my bike and head to work where I do just that.
Far too many of my dreams are now consumed with logistics. Even when I am fortunate enough to land in a lullaby trip to Disneyland, the experience turns out not to be about the various attractions or characters we might see but rather an extended primer on how and when to line up with tickets in hand and paperwork at the ready.
After spending some time mulling this condition over, I have decided to give it an optimistic spin. There was a time when all my life was anticipation. I couldn't wait to fall in love or to fly in an airplane or have a child or visit Disneyland.
I've done that. All of it. And more. I am at a point in my life where I realize that most of life is mundane moments of seemingly endless repetition. If you repeat the steps in the proper order enough times, you get to move to the next level. It's the video game model.
Then there's this: I used to have terrible insomnia and a plague of homesickness that was all but crippling. I worried that my mother and father might disappear and I would be left alone. This feeling was always more present at night, and it stayed with me until we were reunited. I don't have that problem so much anymore. My mother and father have left on their own terms. I said goodbye to them, and those nightmares are gone.
Now I dream of going back to work. I'll take some comfort from that.
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