Dream Me

I have always had vivid dreams ever since I can remember. But they say that as we age, our dreams start to deteriorate and we get less and less of them. Mine don't and I like to think it's because I'm constantly striving to learn and grow in every way I can-waistlines excluded. 

But I'm also severely afflicted with insomnia. For a while, melatonin supplements worked well, but not anymore. So the last few days have been a nightmare of thrashing and groaning, berating myself for not being able to shut up my ongoing mental conversations.

But last night, after having too many sleepless nights, I was able to get a deep enough sleep that I was able to dream.

In my dream, I lived in a wonderful high rise apartment-except, I had actually just conned myself into using someone else's vacant apartment while they were out of the country.

Then as I stepped out for a meeting, I saw my image in the mirrored reflections of the lobby walls. I was svelte and sleek, my suit was handmade and of an expensive cut. I turned myself to see my new sauve self in wonderful self congratulations.

Then I realized, I had empty pockets. My ID, credit cards, cash and keys were all missing. I had somehow left everything in the apartment.

I asked the lobby security to let me back in and they said, that I was the second person who had locked themselves out that morning! But I just had to wait a few minutes and they would help in back in.

Sadly, that's when my dream shifted and I was suddenly in another city at my corporate meeting. I was talking to an old co-worker and I was explaining my situation.

"But how did you get on the plane without ID?" She asked me.

I said I didn't know. Then suddenly, I had a coat and I reached inside and pulled out a photo card of a gym club membership, various pieces of mail with my name and address and various random photographs-some of which wasn't even of me.

As my friend reached for the photos, I saw a glimpse of a photo of someone(my waking mind doesn't recognize) whose photo I didn't want my friend to see, so I grabbed them away from her quickly saying:

"Some things are very hard to unsee."

I was still in my svelte physique, charming, confident and completely uncaring. The epitome of success and wealth. At one point, I was riding in some kind of vehicle and I sat at the highest point, surveying all I could see from that premium seat, high above the maddening crowd.

When I woke, I wasn't troubled by the dream itself. I was troubled by what it meant. My success came with a price, my identity.

The dream harkened back to instances in my life when I was still a corporate drone, pampered and feted. 

But nine months into my self exile into the freelance marketplace, I still have doubts. Did I do the right thing? Did I quit out of cowardice and avoidance of strong confrontations? 

The dream for me, was a resounding answer of no. I have left jobs for no other reasons than that I was bored, or I no longer liked it. I found ways to pay my bills until another corporate job came along(all perfectly legal!). 

But now I realize that the corporate job, sitting at a desk, caged in a cubicle is not for me. If I force myself into that environment, I do so at the peril of my self-identity.

Yes, my dreams are vivid, they are the perfect way for my subconscious to "speak" to me and I'm grateful for that consolation.

I may not have that expensive suit nor that high rise apartment, but in the depth of my soul, it's not what I want. I just want to be me.