I've been thinking alot lately about dreams. Maybe because I've had some crazy ones lately. I recently dreamt my sister that my sister got eaten by a shark, and that I was grocery shopping when I found out. I kept grocery shopping. It was weird. I had a another dream that some guy was chasing me while another was trying to protect me and the "bad" one ended up stealing my car and crashing it through the my current place of employment. And then I had a dream that me and Boca were walking through a tall corn field together.
Personal interpretations:
Dream 1: My sister is moving to LA, I'm kinda sad about it, and I really need to go grocery shopping. Easy enough.
Dream 2: Work has been stressful. And my car is a sore spot for me right now as I will be downgrading to something horrifying I'm sure. Strangely enough, my anxiety surrounding my job died down a lot after this dream.
Dream 3: Boca has left me for Baltimore with Liv and crew. I'm going to miss them all, so keeping them in my dreams is a way to stay close. And on the corn side, for awhile I feel like I've really had no strong direction. Like being in a field of tall corn. Stranded and locked only by your own decision without any factual knowledge of what lies ahead.
I'm sure some dream expert would have a bunch of generalized bullshit to say about all of that. Unfortunately for those guys, I'm pretty intuitive. Or something.
And those, my friends, are my sleeping dreams. Next, I'd like to move on to the next category. The waking kind.
When I was little, I had dreams of becoming many things. I wanted to be a veterinarian. A marine biologist. An author. A meteorologist. A psychologist. A cheerleader (True story). And probably a million other things that sounded fun to me. I loved animals and people and words and weather and poms poms, apparently.
Just as an example, let's use the veterinary dream.
When I was a senior in high school, I took an internship with a local veterinarian. We went out to a call for a bull castration. And he spliced and ripped out the balls with no anesthetic, the bull screaming fully the entire time, and handed me the blood-soaked testes and told me to throw them away. It was the worst combo of sound I'd ever heard. A dream died that day. For me and that little bull.
My dream of becoming a cheerleader died hard in seventh grade. Story located here and believe me, it is well worth reading.
Other dreams were more wispy and held a little less cred. Although I work with a girl who got to train dolphins for a summer in Florida and who wouldn't want to do that? Unfortunately for me, the closest I got to ocean wildlife as a kid was Sea World Cleveland and wtf was that doing there anyway? I def dont know.
Anyhow, my dreams of now. I haven't really grasped on to anything with the vigor that I held as a kid. I'm assuming that's normal, as some shade of jade has to take over at some point.
Some people have the end-goal of a house and family life and kids and golden retrievers and I really have no desire for any of that at the moment or for the near future, which I'm determining to be 5-10 years. Might be shooting myself in the foot on that one. We'll see I'm sure.
I've noticed that the people I've known who have turned dreams into reality are so beyond confident that they will make it happen that they do make it happen. They encompass a resilience and a work ethic that boggles my mind. I covet it like hell. My confidence typically gets its ass handed to it by reality and I need to learn how to shut that self-defeating voice down for awhile so that maybe I can do something, ya know?
For some people, the dream is money. I mean, it's a nice dream. But I'm not sure it carries much merit. That dream on its own doesnt work for me, or I'd be very comfortable being where I'm at looking forward. It's not the case.
I dont really know if I have an end point to this. But in my search of finding my passion, I've found two things. Writing. I could write all day and every day. I could write about anything (obviously) and I haven't stopped writing since I started at 4 yrs old and I hope to continue writing until the day that I die. And comedy. I'm enamored by the ones who are really good. By the ones who work their faces off to make shit happen. Who take risks and throw it all on the table. It's a deep, weird hole to jump into. And I'm watching a lot of people do it really f-ing well. I'm standing there and looking in. I haven't decided what's next. On both levels.
But I should prob figure that out pretty soon.
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