Dreams: A Post in Which I Share a Realization

I’m finally willing to admit it:

DREAMS ARE BORING.

Other people’s dreams, that is.

I’m a big dreamer. Over the years, Cliff has been tolerant and listened to my dreams. I suppose he feels it’s his husbandly duty.

But a few mornings ago, I said in an exuberant voice, “Can I tell you about my dream?”

“Yes,” he answered before taking a sip of coffee. After the sip, he added, “Just don’t make it real long.”

And you know what?

His reply didn’t bother me. I didn’t even think about getting mad or hurt. Not at all. I have finally realized that dreams are usually boring to the listener.

I hate dreams in books. I hate them in plays and movies too, the worst being the visit of the grandmother in Fiddler on the Roof.

And I DO NOT want to be tricked into finding out something was all a dream. The exception of course is the Wizard of Oz. You are not a good steward of the world if you hate The Wizard of Oz.

Every now and then someone will tell me they dreamed of me.

I wait.

Will I be the star of the dream? Will I rescue the world? Sing a magnificent aria? Turn into a runway model?

Nah. I often make an inane comment or float through the dream without any real significance.

So even hearing those dreams can be a disappointment.

Therefore, in my continual project to shape myself up before I die, my new goal is not to bore others with my dreams.

Travel stories. Yes.

Childhood stories. Yes.

Medical stories. Yes.

But I have sworn off sharing my dreams.

What about you? Do you like hearing about other people’s dreams? Do you like dreams in books and movies and plays?

DISCLAIMER: I want to  go on record as saying I love to hear of daydreams or dreams for your life or pipe dreams. To Dream the Impossible Dream from Man of La Mancha is one of my favorite songs.

But that’s another post.

 

Turtle Thoughts with a Slight Link to Menopause

The other night, I had a dream I was wading through dozens of  enormous turtles.  And so the next day I tried to figure out the dream’s message for this menopausal blogger.

Should I up my efforts to declutter the house so we can fit into a smaller shell in a few years?

Do I need to increase my walking pace?  Wear stronger sunscreen to prevent leathery skin?  Buy some funky placemats in an earth-toned geometric print?  Eat more greens?   Be more patient?  Be less patient?

Should I tuck in my head, think deeper, and write harder?

Or does dreaming of turtles suggest I am behaving much too turtle-like?  Do I need to stop writing with such intensity and abandon my semi-turtle shell life?   More party and less keyboard pounding?

Is the dream urging Cliff and me to put our shells in gear and get going on the world travel we long for.  (The dream was vaguely set on the Galapagos Islands.)

Was the dream’s purpose to teach me, once and for all, that I need to get over the frustration of not being able to solve the world’s mysteries?  I’ve always wondered how it feels to be a turtle, and I will NEVER have the privilege of knowing.  Chill, Barbara.  But I still wonder:  Do lady turtles go through menopause?  Bless their turtle hearts if they do.  Menopause and a shell can’t be a great combination.

OR (and I promise this is the final “or”) does my dream mean, plain, happy, and simple, that I’m lucky, very lucky, to live in a world graced by amazing and intriguing creatures?

And now a hypothetical question for you, my dear human readers:  What would you MOST like to ask  one of the world’s creatures?  Leave a comment by clicking on “Comments ” below.

Photo:  I found this lovely turtle, who is really a tortoise, on Mongabay.com.  I’m pretending she has in-shell access to the Internet  and is a fan of Friend for the Ride.  I’d love to have some readers in the Galapagos!

Change Your Life!  Learn once and for all, the difference between a turtle and a tortoise by watching this SHORT video.

That Old College Dream…

This post is presented in honor of students everywhere who are truly working hard to finish up their semester.

I was at the beach a few weeks ago, having a perfectly lovely time, and in the dark of that beachy night, it appeared:  THE OLD COLLEGE DREAM.

There’s a class I registered for,  but I haven’t been attending.  It’s too late to drop the class.  But it’s also too late to go back to class and catch up on the work I’ve missed.  I’m most likely going to get an F.

I have an alternate college dream.  I think I have a term paper due at the end of the semester in a specific class, but I’m not really sure.  And for some reason, I don’t ask the professor.  I just don’t do the paper.  Here comes another F.

I had a great time in college.  I didn’t miss many classes.  I turned in all my term papers.  And I didn’t get any F’s.

So why is this menopausal girl, many years past college, still having VERY scary college dreams?  Why can’t I dream about the parties?  Or sunning on the quad?  Or spring break?  The next boyfriend?   Something fun!

I don’t have a clue.  But both women and men friends report similar dreams.

I’d love to draw some brilliant conclusion.

Maybe the dreams mean we’re not as old as we think we are.

Nah, that’s not it.

Maybe the dreams represent all of our fears of failure.

Perhaps.

Maybe their purpose is simply to remind us of a stressful but usually very happy time years ago.

Perhaps.

And just maybe,  college dreams make us glad for the present, with its own set of problems, but no term papers, intimidating professors, or terror of fat F’s on our transcripts.

Yep.  That’s it!

Let’s give out the old college cheer for the here and now.

Photo Above:  The chapel at Duke University, my alma mater.  The photo was taken by my daughter Laura for her blog, Taking Back My Twenties.

Photo Below:  Laura and her boyfriend Matt Allen at Cameron Indoor Stadium after Duke beat their undergraduate alma mater, Davidson College.  If Matt is dreaming of papers and classes, that makes excellent sense as he is now a student at the Fuqua School of Business at Duke.