Sometimes I wish I were one of those people who doesn’t dream.
This morning, my wife nudged me out of a powerful dream involving serial killers, rich benefactors, high school reunions, a father’s love, an unknown crush, a teacher’s martial infidelity with a student, missed birthdays, fear of the future, and a big bunch of balloons.
I didn’t go back to sleep. It was a little much.
Then, trapped in traffic, a chicken plant’s stench in my nose hairs, I found myself awake and thinking about my future. The ambitious part of me tried to drift off into another dream…one of a full wallet, a meaningful job, freedom of movement, a house in the mountains, a writing room that overlooks a stream, guitars on a mountain back porch, a happy little dog, a non-working wife tending to a happy little baby, family within a half-day’s drive.
Somebody honked. A school bus belched out a bunch of black smoke. I looked around and my car was covered with crumpled TV scripts, empty caffeine containers, and a torn-up Burger King bag.
Yes, sometimes I wish I didn’t dream.
But…at the same time, as I tried to make my way through the rush hour mess, I looked up over the strip mall and six lane roads, and I saw the sun (a big orange ball this morning) rising up over the horizon.
It was a least one moment when reality rivaled the dream.