Forgetting to Fly

I used to float in my dreams--push myself off the ground and experience a few moments of weightlessness as if the air and I were one. And a lot of times, I could fly, soar through the air and see the clouds and whatever was below me.

As I grew up, I had to focus hard to float slowly upward. Flying became harder and more energy-consuming and I had to swim in the air to stay afloat.

Maybe the effort I had to exert in my dreams mirrored my effort against how sucky life can be. Maybe my mind was letting things get me down and maybe my dreams were trying to grapple with that.

I don't remember all my dreams, but, except for nightmares, I have the impression that they used to be fanciful and fun and maybe even beautiful. These days, most of my dreams are either strange or disappointing--mostly both.

As I write this paragraph, I'm in the midst of a vivid dream aftermath when you remember most of the dream when you wake up and you recount it to yourself to make sure the details don't slip away later.

I dreamed I was in a sort of dreamhouse. It was almost like a luxury wooden cottage. It had tons and tons of rooms. Everything was a mess because it hadn't been cleaned in a while. There were two dogs--one small and fluffy and one large and short-haired--and I was wondering when the last time they had eaten was. There was even something like a Disney Store on the fourth floor. And though I knew someone else was taking care of the house and was visiting every few days, I had the distinct feeling that the house was mine and that I could do what I please with it. I'm pretty sure I had a key too. It was my property.

And then ... everything messed up. About twenty kids came over and I had to take care of them. A former friend showed up and I had to avoid her. And I was anxious about a million little things that I couldn't see but I could clearly feel.

In most of my dreams, I'm frustrated and overpowered. I try to yell and my voice comes out weak and hoarse and falls on deaf ears. I try to drive and I have to navigate impossibly steep hills (we're talking 90 degree angles here). I go to school and I get lost on campus or I fail a class.

I get in big trouble or I'm scared or something bad happens or I'm falling and then my subconscious reminds me it's a dream and I force myself to wake up.

Once in a while, I still dream about trying to fly. I end up swimming ineffectively, trying desperately to get some traction on the invisible air and failing miserably.

In the end, it's all our anxieties coming out in our dreams and messing with us, so that our brains can supposedly process our lives better. So we won't go insane.

But I can't see why my brain can't give me a break and give me happy dreams. Take me to Disney World, brain! Show me what it's like to sail around the world and find a private island!

Or, you know, don't show me my former friend in the house of my dreams and remind me that I haven't gotten over some stuff and that I don't know how much longer the hurt will last.

And please don't have me facing that same friend in another dream and have her say absentmindedly, "Isn't it weird how we never talk anymore?" and then not have her answer me when I tell her the truth.

Obviously, my brain and I have to work through some stuff together, but maybe it's better to have these dreams as long as I don't have to face exaggerated anxieties in real life.

The enchantment here? Just what I wrote. Bad dreams are just dreams and we don't have to let them come true.