Lighthouse

This dream was all of about a 2 minute experience. But it’s power is irrelevant to it’s measurement in linear time. Honestly, the expression of these words feels like a limitation to what I truly felt, I’ve never experienced anything quite like it.

Coming into this dream was like waking up in a new space. I was surrounded in white as if I was stuck inside a floating cloud. There was no horizon beyond me, and no apparent beginning or end to where I was. But I didn’t feel lost, or scared or nervous. Actually, all my attention was in the weight of my arms. I rested a chunky little baby on my left hip. I could count the rolls on its legs and arms, and saw the thin black hair fluttering over its eyes (i think it was a girl). She looked about 9 months old, and was heavy. 

Immediately, I saw Abran. He walked up towards me, appearing from nowhere and nothing. He felt tall to me, like a large presence in this space. He had one hand free, and his other latched onto the girls, who formed a chain behind him. A smile started to grow on his face like it always does. It’s this little smirk he has that widens until his whole face is engaged and radiating joy. Like it’s shooting from the lines around his squinted eyes and vibrating through his teeth. His whole face just glows and it’s like a wave of warmth falls on you. It’s the first thing I ever noticed about him, and why I couldn't look away.

We lock eyes as he raises his free hand. We don’t speak, and I don’t move, I just watch. His hand comes from above and lands softy on my head. As soon as his fingers graze my hair, I feel everything shift inside of me. It’s like a wave of slowly dripping heat is pouring out of his hands and hitting each molecule in my body. One by one I feel it touch my head, then face, then back, each area exploding in an orgasmic sensation. In a wave, my body releases a ray of light that beams out into the space around me in until I can see a full colorful spectrum in this once white space. I thought I was having a full body orgasm at first, but it was different. It was happening on a cellular level, and it continued throughout my body until every part of me was filled with euphoria, and I was floating. The pleasure was all consuming, and this golden light reflected to me with the intensity of the sun. I couldn’t sustain it, my physical body could not handle it, so I woke up, fully alert and lying beside him. 

Coming Home

I entered my apartment like a bull in a China shop. I whipped the door open and dropped everything loudly on the floor. I didn’t even empty the luggage out of my car. I was done with everything today. I’d spent the weekend with hundreds of healthcare colleagues, learning about esthetic treatments and the technology of the future. Fractional plasma for collagen regeneration, acoustic waves to improve circulation, all these machines utilizing energy/ high frequency waves to cause cellular change. It was fascinating, and each provider had their own niche and perspective on treatment. But with each person also came an energy to adapt to, and a presence floating like a cloud in my personal space. It was exhausting. I’d slept 9 hours a night, and gotten some physical activity in, but each morning I still woke up with a swollen face, feeling like I was dragging 145 pounds of dead weight. 

I got back to my apartment with my face red and puffy from crying. I’d felt such a relief in my car, just sitting in my own energy. Like a space had opened for me to release every piece of debris I’d picked up over the weekend. I felt like it’d accumulated on my back and was sticking on my skin. In that moment I opened the valve I’d held so tight, and let it release in a wave of grief and anger. While I drove, I even contemplated where I’d go; home to Karina or home to Abran? In reality, I didn’t want to see either of them, I didn’t want to see anyone at all. 

I went to both of them anyway.

Karina filled me in on her week as I laid wrapped up on the couch. I’d missed out on her internal realizations, work, her relationship, and what she knew she needed to work on. I listened to her intently, as Abran bursted through the door. He laid on me, his arms wrapped around my body and his cheek pressed against mine. I held eye contact with Karina through the window that his arms formed around my face. If Karina wasn’t as weird as he was, I don’t know how we would all co-exist. But we did these things without batting an eye, it was just another day in the Treehouse (my apt). 

As time went on I felt Abran just melting into me. His heat merged with mine, and I felt myself slow down under the pressure of his body. I was calm, my mind was clear, and a peace settled over me and the whole space around us. I felt tears welt up again, but from a different place. 

“I feel like I’ve been gone a million years,” I told him. I wasn’t referring to the three days I spent in Austin without him, or the 30 years Id lived without this love. I felt like I’d just come home in this moment, to myself. Like I’d been wandering lost for lifetimes, searching for my purpose or my truth, or a little space where I felt that I fit. But here it was, clear as day. In that moment I knew exactly who I was, and I fit so perfectly in this body, and in this time and space. I was home.

Cue: Coming Home by City and Colour

Speeding on a Sunday

I was driving home from the lake, just flying from lane to lane on the tollway. My clothes were soaked through with sweat, and I could feel the stiffness of my sun burnt shoulders. 

Ah I cant wait to take a cold shower, I thought, and then sit with my feet up on the couch. I showed up at the lake this morning for the scene. The trees are vibrant this time of year, and the flowers have grown wild after the dramatic bursts of rain. It’s always been my favorite spot in Dallas— to bike, walk, run, or just hang up the hammock and read.

I decided to run today, despite having an oozing laceration on my shin. My legs also burned with residual soreness from my leg day and a 90 minute myofascial massage. It’s fine, I thought. I’ll run the lactic acid out, and walk when I’m feeling tired. And so I did, for the whole 9 mile loop around the lake. It was like a game; run in the sun and a cool down recovery walk in the shade, any shade I could find. When I say it was like a game, I mean it was like the Hunger Games, and the only choice here was to survive.

As I drove the 20 minutes home, the exhaustion set in, and the hunger, but I also felt a sense of completion and strength. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” I felt like I’d walked a fine line on that one today. Running in the sun with no water… hmm it could kill me. An infection on an open wound?? Mehh, maybe dangerous. My life choices were a little iffy today although I knew that I would make it. But was I any better for that?

I finally saw my exit, “Windhaven 1/4 mile.” and I scooted my way to the right. I imagined cold water pouring over me, and a chocolate smoothie as I rested in my PJ’s. I felt so excited, so grateful for the Treehouse, and the day that lay ahead for me. A day of rest. 

I rode down the ramp and yielded to a mass of cars merging onto the highway. As I slowed down, I turned my head over my shoulder but got stuck. My seatbelt locked and my body was tightly held against the seat. I couldn't turn to check my blind spots, I couldn’t see what was coming from behind me. One car whipped by and cut in front of me, then another. A couple more were still coming, from what I could tell from my rear view mirror. By that point, I’d slowed to a stop, hoping the cars behind me would too. My seatbelt dug into my chest, and I sat there staring forward and to the mirror with my peripherals. Eventually, when all seemed clear, I moved forward, switching 3 lanes to the right so I could turn onto Windhaven. As I pulled off of the ramp, my seatbelt moved with full motion, like it had never been locked at all. 

I was dancing on this fine line again, I could feel it. Except I was being twirled uncontrollably, and didn’t know the moves or where to place my feet. I’d chosen this today instead of flowing with what I felt was true to me. I was tired this morning and could have rested by the pool. But  I locked myself in this mindset of “I should do this, I should do that, do do do, more more more.” And in pushing myself to that limit, I really just kept myself stuck in the same old place I’d been trying to run from. How many times has life brought me to a halt because I couldn’t see the signs that said “SLOW DOWN!!”? One too many, but I’m done not listening. 

Cue: Vienna by Billy Joel

Future Man

(I wrote this to myself in 2021 as a reminder of what is out there, and of what I deserve. I honestly don't even remember writing this.)

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One day I will meet a man who sees me, who hears me, who knows me in his heart, and chooses me. A man who knows himself and is loyal to his truth. Who knows what he wants and what he is capable of. A man who trusts me with his heart, with his thoughts, and with his future.  A man who who leads and protects me, who is soft with me and leans into me when he is low. A man who shares his thoughts, his dreams, his emotions, knowing that they are safe with me. One day I will meet a man who feels my light like he feels my body. Who trusts me to bear him life. Who wants to see his essence merged with mine.

One day I will meet a man who I surrender to with my body, my mind, and my spirit. Whom I reveal myself to completely, from whom I can not hide and do not want to. A man I hold space for and fully receive. A man I pour my all into. A man I will follow through darkness and light, over space and over time. A man I feel safe with, even from myself. 

If he loves you, he will tell you and he will show you. You will know. If you’re confused about if he loves you it’s because he doesn’t. Silence is just as much of an answer as words. Not choosing is also a choice.

Last Call

I sunk into the couch of Jim’s dim lit office. It wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Saturday morning, but it was the only time I had. “Okay, let’s do this,” I thought.

I was on therapist number 4 now. The first one was cold and dismissive, the second one felt more like a friend, and the third just had nothing to say. I was quick to move to the next one.. I needed thorough and efficient, a quick fix me up to get me on my way. 

Not today. Now I knew that nothing would be quick, and no one was going to give me some secret to set my life straight. My relationships were non-restorable now. I’d exited them like a villain in a Marvel movie, smiling through a fire with a city imploding behind me. There was nowhere left to go back to, and no one to look “fixed” for. Now, I was doing this for me.

I shared it all, the things I never talked about, details I withheld from the first three providers, secrets I’d never even admitted to myself. I spoke them out loud, and they lingered in that room like a cloud of smoke. 

In that hour I was hot, and then sweating, my heart pounded and my mouth went dry. I sat there with hands too shaky to take a sip of water. I tripped over my words and fidgeted from one position to another like the topics we were burning through. At the end I felt nothing but exhaustion.

I felt lost after each session, as if I’d been misplaced in time and space and was weaving back from my thoughts to the physical world. I’d take walks outside to decompress or wander through stores in my disoriented state. Sometimes I’d just sit on my couch until the white noise faded and I was able to shift back into reality again. Dissociating was like my hidden talent, though I’d never mastered the coming back part.

“What would make me feel better?” I thought. I started to make a list, and jotted down anything that made me happy in the past.

Usually I worked. Recently I’d picked up weekend shifts because the weekends felt too long at home. This Saturday afternoon I did my usual things; gym, food, read, a movie. Sunday morning called for a 3 hour bike ride in the sun. I showered and did my hair— an unusual occasion and attempt to feel pretty. When I finally sat down my only thought was “what’s next?” My body was tired, but my mind was restless. I was flooded in endorphins and all I felt was anxiety. Like that cloud of spoken words and feelings was following me everywhere, and I could barely even breath.

Jay picked me up for coffee like he said he would. He ran over on brunch with his friends and I felt like I’d been waiting for forever. Coffee would be good, I thought, going out would be good, not being alone would be great. 

“You still want to get coffee?” he asked me as I climbed into his truck. 

“Yea, or a beer.” I responded, sarcastically but serious too.

“We can get a beer.” he said.

“I shouldn’t. We should get coffee.” I’d quit drinking, and he knew that. I was 2 months out from my last disaster. 

It was 3pm on a Sunday and there weren't many coffee shops still open. Granted, we didn’t look too hard before we made our way to a local bar, “Okay,” I said, “Maybe just one.”

A beer and good conversation, that’s all I needed. But like dominos falling in a line, one beer turned to two beers, to tequila shots to, “I’ll see if I can get some blow.” That was my cue to leave.

We wandered around Uptown in a haze. We frolicked the 2 blocks back to the car like kids skipping in the grass. The buildings, the people, my thoughts, they were all a blur in the background. I felt fluid and free. Uninhibited. Like I could do anything, because every thought and feeling was frozen in a world I’d escaped from. I was floating high above it all, ignoring the fact that I’d fall just as hard. And I did.

I woke up the next day for work with a feeling I’d never felt before. The anxiety and the pain that had consumed me was gone. So was the euphoria. I felt dead. I came and went and worked for days with no recollection of it. I moved through my life like a robot, running on autopilot. Like a body with its soul sucked out.

Alcohol had brought me solace for 18 years, but that morning I knew it couldn’t help me anymore. Suddenly, I was aware that it was slowly killing me, not so much my body, but my spirit. I successfully deadened myself; the darkness, the guilt, the shame, the pain, but the good, the love, and light went with it. With each moment of escape I drifted further and further from my true self, from fully experiencing life. I knew I could continue to survive, jumping from one external remedy to another. Or I could feel may way through it all to a life that is real. I knew that I couldn’t have both, and that the choice was mine, and the time to choose was now.

That day, I chose to live.  

Nexus Point

I’m back at this place I know, I’ve been here before in other dreams. It’s a brick building that looks like a medical complex, but it’s placed in the middle of a residential neighborhood. It’s surely a blend of several places I’ve seen before, but I can’t identify any part of it.

What is this place? I ask myself.

“It’s a nexus point.” I hear immediately, in a very matter-of-fact response.

I watch as I move forward with my life, as if through a tunnel. As the days go by I meet new people and make new choices, veering this path one way or another. Each tiny action branches off into a potential new route, down to my choice of words, my work, hobbies, and relationships. At a certain point It ends.

Then I’m back at the beginning, back at the complex. I’ve seen the outcomes I don’t want and I can chose differently. I do just that and travel a little further down the trail to my greatest life path.

Shit! I hit another road black, and I start again. I get on one path that I know is so utterly misaligned that I just laugh and hit the reset button. "Nope! not trying to fix this." I say to myself.

I do this over and over, making significant progress each time. On one trail I find my truest love, on another I find how to leave my mark on the world. Each timeline unravels before me with different gifts, and slowly I find where to obtain them all. 

I stand back and look at this map I’ve created around me, all originating from this point. A neon blue light connects them like a web, and everything is at a stand still. Not only can I see the paths, I can see the people. I tap on an image of a man I’ve recently dated, and I can see how a particularly choice I made affected him in that moment, and from that I see his web branching out, and how that experienced pulsed him forward into his own new potential realities.  It’s like I’m playing with an interactive map. 

From my view I can see the intricate web of human connection. I can see the expanse of it all, and the ripple effects that stem from every single moment. It is delicate, and messy, and beautiful.

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I woke up with a new sense of awareness in how impactful my thoughts and actions are for my future and for the people around me, even the smallest, seemingly insignificant actions. I also woke up with this nagging thought of…”how many times are you going to loop back around before you get it right??” I have no idea, to be honest. But that path, the one where everything comes together, where I truly am my best self and have it all, it exists. And that's what I do know.

2021 Reflection

What this year has taught me:

(cue: "Seeing Things" by The Black Crowes--- really, listen to it after. great tune)

-There will always be people in my life who love me. There is an abundance of love in my life, from my family, from friends, etc. But not everyone will see or hear me. Not because they don’t want to, but because they can’t. They’re not meant to. They will love me in whatever capacity they can, and although it feels limited to me, it is genuine and real. I also am aware that there are people I have never seen before, and people that I still can’t hear. It's a very surreal feeling to see someone after some time passes and see them so differently because I'm in a different space.

-I learned to love from a distance. That I can care about people and remove myself from their life. I can be detached, and I can still love them, wish them well, and pray that they’re living their best life. I realize that people are likely loving me from where they are too. I am loved more than I know— we all are. What's even harder though, is being detached from the people who are in my life and in front of me. Feeling their unhappiness, for example, and not carrying these emotions as my own. Or choosing to not help them when they're falling because they are either unreceptive to help or because I simply cannot help them.

-I saw the stories I was a character of. There was a plot that kept playing over and over on repeat and I couldn’t understand why, until I saw the story from a different perspective— as an observer. Then I could see my role in the plot, and how I perpetuated the same conflict, climax, and ending. I was responding the same way in each chapter, and consequently, nothing changed. I learned that I can choose differently, I can change the story. Knowing you can is one thing, doing it is another.

-I learned that I can not change people, and that they don't have to change for us to have a different relationship. When I change my perspective, when I dropped my expectations of people, the relationship changes on its own. I can drop my judgment of them and the idea of who I want them to be, and accept them as is. Then we can just enjoy each other. Then we are free to have a real relationship.

-I found the answers to my questions. Or more so, I learned who to ask. It’s me. My body can feel what’s right or wrong immediately, and my mind often only knows in hindsight. I learned to use them both, and it’s a beautiful partnership. Did I always listen? No. Did I continue to make mistakes? Yes. But I learned from them, and accepted that I am human.

-I’ve learned to speak my truth. Which is more than being honest with myself and the people around me. It’s a strange sensation, like I cannot hold back what I feel needs to be said. There is a time and place, of course, so social awareness is key, but I can’t bury it like I used to. My old mindset of “it’s not important, it doesn’t matter” is gone. It is important and not sharing it could be a huge disservice to myself and the people who need to hear it.

-I learned to just be. This is a big one for me. I found that I did not need to work to feel of value, or hit some new exercise record to feel accomplished, or to meditate to feel peace, or travel to feel excitement. I don’t need a relationship to feel love. (Doesn’t mean that I don’t want these things, I do, I just don’t need them). I don’t need something to look forward to, or memories to hang onto. Now is perfect, and experiencing that is enough. It is enough to just be me. After feeling that and embodying it, I’ve transitioned into doing more things that bring me joy. I am still doing just as much as I used to, it’s just coming from a different place.

-This year I lived outside my comfort zone. That's where I found growth and fun and presence. Some of those things: I did an Emotional Healing Retreat in New Mexico, posed for a 2022 lingerie calendar for a local artist, practiced Marconics (energy healing), started playing the piano again (after 20 years), joined a softball team (first time after breaking my collar bone in 2019), started writing again (in this blog and beyond that), got a roommate, invested in Crypto, moved to Plano, road tripped from Arizona to Texas, learned about Holistic dentistry, practiced fasting, started dating again, and took time off work. I still have a week with my brother and his kids, a girls trip to Austin, a new job to start, and I am hosting Christmas at my place for the first time. 

-I learned that being alone is better than being with people who bring you down. Not that they are “bad” people, but people who drain my energy. I used to think that something was better than nothing. That being with someone was better than no one, so I latched on to anyone and everyone. But I’ve seen that once I close one door that’s not meant for me, another will open. That what’s truly best for me can only come along when I make space for it. 

-I learned that growth is not linear. On a recent job interview, the employer never showed. I thought, huh, he must have gotten held up with a patient. A friend doesn't call me back and I hope they're okay. I give them the benefit of the doubt; it's not about me, people have their own shit going on. Another day I'm raging about someone who's forgotten an arranged meeting. Everything feels personal, and i sink into this victim mentality, like "I've been stood up, they don't respect my time, they don't respect me" until I'm spiraling in my own anger, then sorrow. But mid tantrum I stand back and look at myself, like "what are you doing? what is this really about?" And i can see again. I regress, but I'm aware of it. And again, I move forward.

-I learned to accept good things. Why am I so shocked when good things come to me or when everything works out? I've learned to accept that I deserve good things. ALL OF THEM. It's not "too good to be true," it's just good. There's no catch, I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop. I've listened to that story for too long. Things are just good, and that's how they should be. 

-This is trippy, but I've been able to separately see my true thoughts and feelings and my ego. You know that nagging voice in your head that chimes in with the shittiest comments? Well, recently, when that voice came in, I was alarmed, and thought "who the fuck is that?" I can see that it is not me, and just a pre-programmed response that's trying to keep me where I've always been. Here's an example: I was spending time with a guy I like, and once we parted ways I heard, "Meh, I don't really know if I want that." This was shocking to me because we had a great time. Then I realized, ahhh, things are good, this is the part when I run, or hide, or self sabatoge. But that isn't me anymore (as mentioned above, I'm here for all the good things). It was a painful moment because I instantly saw how many life decisions I'd made from following this voice. I had thrown away a lot of great opportunities. But it was also beautiful, because here I am and I'm not doing it anymore!

-I’ve understood the true meaning of faith. Leaving my job with nothing else lined up, for example, knowing that what’s meant for me will come along. I’ve always had a plan, a back up plan, a structured life, routine, I never put all my eggs in one basket. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sitting on my couch hoping someone knocks with a job offer, and blowing through my savings either. But I’ve discerned the difference between “being responsible” and functioning from a place of fear. It is not always easy, but I’m doing it anyway. 

8:12 (not a dream)

I was on my way home from WhiteRock lake. I was happy that my softball game got cancelled so I could go running, but then pissed that the lake was closed off for a race (A race I wanted to do but didn’t sign up for because I had softball.) Anyway, I had to go Norbuck Park to cut through, which meant Route 12 was my closest way home. This is how the story begins.

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I’m cruising down route 12, trying to avoid the notifications firing off on my phone. The girls group chat is non stop, Christina sends me a page of the book she’s reading, and my mom’s usual “how was your day?” pops up on my phone. It’s easy to ignore because I’m not interested today; not in running, not in softball, not in talking to anyone. 

Kings of Leon is seeping out my windows in exchange for a brisk autumn breeze. The sky is black and I'm guided forward in a school of red weaving taillights. My body hasn’t gotten used to the shortened days yet, or the sudden drop in temp. It’s just passed 7pm and I feel drained. It seems like October is always rough for me. 

The cars in front of me come to a rapid halt, and I thank God I’d put my phone down. 

Why is there traffic at this time? 

Dallas traffic was the first thing people mentioned back when I told them I was new to the city. It was a commonality that seemed to bring people together. If you didn’t know how to strike up conversation at a bar, talk about the Tollway, or your commute home on 635. You’ll hit it off, guaranteed. I just laughed at it. They had clearly never been to Boston.

I was parked now. Everyone was parked except the people now using the emergency lane to slide by. I stuck my head out the window and saw who was holding us up; it was a red dodge charger a few cars ahead of me. And…what is that in the road?

I got out to see if anyone needed help, two other guys did too. As the scene became clearer, I started running. The front of the car was smashed, the windshield was shattered, and both air bags filled the two front seats. The driver was pacing back and forth on the phone.  A body laid motionless on the pavement.

“Hey, what happened, are you okay?” I asked. 

“I didn’t see him, I didn’t see him, it was so dark,” he said, looking beyond me. “Have I done CPR? No. I don’t know how to do CPR,” he answered into his phone. 

I saw an image of me frozen outside my bathroom door at UMASS, a paramedic yelling at me “Did you at least try doing CPR?” 

Not again, I thought, moving closer to the man in the road,  I can help him. The other two guys followed.

But I couldn’t help him. One of the guys checked for a pulse at his neck, then his wrist, then at his neck again. The man was unresponsive. His face was pressed against the pavement, and one eye was fixed staring straight ahead, while the other oozed with blood. His pants had been dragged down to his knees, which rested at odd angles. His neck was displaced and it was clear he’d have no airway even if we tried. 

“He’s gone man,” he said. The other guy was directing traffic. “Nothing we can do.” And then they left.

The driver came back to me.

“I didn’t see him man,” he said, his hands now interlaced on his head. “It was so dark, I couldn’t see him.”  It was dark. There wasn’t a single street light or sign around us. I could barely see my car from where I stood. 

“Hey what’s your name?” I asked.

“Eric,” he told me.

“Okay Eric,” I said. “This is a highway and it’s pitch black out. Nobody would have seen him.”

He nodded, “I was just driving home man, I just live up the street,” he said. He wasn’t hearing me, he was in shock.

I could feel it being muffled for him despite the sirens wailing around us, and the firetruck’s horn obnoxiously held down to scare cars aside, and the traffic on the other side of the divide. I also watched this scene as if it were on mute and at a distance. It was different though, I saw two simultaneously overlapping scenes.

Paramedics and cops flooded my dorm hall, yelling questions I couldn’t answer. “What did he take? How old is he? Does he have any medical conditions? Allergies?” I didn’t even know his last name. They were stern and loud, I could see now, not out of anger, but because I was hearing them as if underwater.

A parade of red and blue lights started filling in and closing off the street, and I turned to Eric. “Look,” I started, “they’re going to ask you a ton of questions, they just need to know what happened. You’ll be okay.” 

“Wait,” he said frantically. “Wait, can you wait with me please?” 

I saw myself walking back into the overturned dorm room, pacing around just like Eric. I ripped the caution tape off the front door and cleaned the room to look like it had the day before. I stashed anything that was Charlie’s into a bag and sat up in my bed all night, alone, waiting until it felt safe to fall asleep.

“Okay,” I said, “Is there anyone you can call? Do you have family here?”

“Yea,” he answered, “my sister’s on her way.”

I waited and watched Eric pace, and call his mom on the phone, and plea his innocence to her, to me, to the cops, and to himself. 

Eric moved under the weight of an inescapable guilt. He didn’t push the man into the road. No one in their right mind would cross this street here. And I didn’t put a needle in Charlie’s arm. Yet here we were, two mirrors standing straight in front of each other, peering into an endless hall of misplaced responsibility for not saving people who could not save themselves.

I gave my story to multiple cops, and waited even though they didn’t need me. I wondered how long Eric would let this guilt chip away at him, and if he’d move through life differently. Here I was, 11 years after Charlie died, still trying to redeem myself. I leaned back against my car, seeing the whole scene in a birds eye view. I lingered here to help Eric, because I had been here before, because I could feel what he felt, because I hadn’t forgiven myself, because I hadn't let go.

I motioned that I was leaving. This was for Eric to sort through now. 

“Hey, thanks for waiting with me, I appreciate you,” he said, shaking my hand.

“I hope you know there’s nothing you could’ve done,” I said to him and to the version of me that he embodied. 

“I hope you get some rest,” I said, and left it all behind.

A Lost Traveler (dream within a dream)

I unpacked my bag and placed my clothes in the drawers closest to the bed. The stained wooden bureau was the only touch of color in the room. Who makes a hotel room completely white? I pulled out running clothes for every climate imaginable, undergarments, and socks. I was only here for the half marathon, and apparently had clothes for nothing else.

I stared at my small duffle, wondering where my mind was when deciding that I was done packing. My thoughts wandered back, but were abruptly halted by a knock at the door.

Who is that? I thought. It was far too late for housekeeping.

I jumped over my stuff to answer the door and swung it open. Will was standing on the other side, bag in hand. We both stood for a moment, doing a mental double take. What is happening?

I froze in the doorway, catching the breath that'd fallen out of me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying not to sound offensive.

“My Airbnb reservations got cancelled,” he said, just as surprised as I was, “and I was rerouted here.” 

He wore his jet lag well. I could see that his journey had been long and convoluted. I stepped aside and let him in. 

He immediately dropped his bag to the floor and and stripped off his coat. “I guess I’m stuck with you,” he said sarcastically. We both laughed. What are the odds? 

We each claimed sides of the queen side bed and passed out almost immediately. Despite our drawn out boundaries, I could feel the bed rise and fall with his breath, and the heat coming off of his skin. 

Suddenly I slipped into a dream. A movie really, where I watched moments of another life. The short clips were like home videos glitching through time; Will and me warming up for the race, him meeting my parents at a resort in Punta Cana, meeting my whole family actually, since we were there for a wedding. Marriage. Kids. A Spanish style home in the countryside turned into our own quiet oasis. 

I watched the story like a silent film. The restless pieces of me dissipated, and settled outside the edges of each passing frame. I could feel my own peace transferring over from the other side of the screen, and collected it like a souvineer. It warmed me like a blanket as I drifted deeper, past its end into a dark space of nothingness. I was gently pulled from my spectator's seat and shot straight up in my bed (my real bed), never having returned to the hotel. There was nothing left to observe or revisit, and I awoke with a satisfying sense of completion.

Newton Street (Dream)

This is where I dropped in:

I stood in the driveway with Jesse by my side. He was waiting for me to sign the papers. He looked from me to the real estate agent, and back to me. He wore the burgundy shorts and sleeveless black T I’d last seen him in. I’d been here before.

We were back at the condo on Newton Street. I’d toured it earlier this week and really liked the funky layout. Two bedrooms on the the second floor with the living room and kitchen on the third. It was like it’s own separate house that merged involuntarily with the other units. I hadn’t been sold on the black and white industrial design, it wasn’t really me. It was the trees I’d fallen for, the way they draped down in front of the place and lined the street in a vibrant green tunnel. And the silence. What a change.

“I’m not sure I want this place,” I said. I’d said it before.

“Well, I already got rid of my spot,” he said, “I planned to move in with you.”

My heart slammed against my chest wall and echoed in my ears.

Did we plan to live together? I thought. I searched my mind for a record of the conversation. Everything was blurry. I don’t know how I got here, how we got here. 

Thoughts came up quickly like acid in my throat. It’s like I’d stepped on a ride that was spinning too fast to jump off of now. 

I can’t just leave him on the street, I thought, he gave up his home for this. For me. 

I signed the papers.

In that moment I was suspended on the edge of the driveway, watching the scene from a distance. There was the celebratory hug, hand shaking with the realtor, and the transfer of keys. Then I watched time go by in rapid images, like a VHS on fast forward. Moving in, moving out, a new house, new neighborhood, new car. Jesse designing and creating towns, head of his own company, prosperous, wealthy, and consumed. Me, the supportive wife, quiet, and following. 

With each scene, I watched us check off all the boxes we learned we needed. I saw myself on that ride, spinning fast and unable to move. I was flat and stuck so tight against a wall that I didn’t notice the floor drop out from under me. 

“You don’t want this,” I heard, in my own voice. 

“You don’t want this,” I heard, the voice growing louder.

“You don’t want this!” it yelled, pulling me away from the cinematic experience. I turned away.

A petite, old woman approached me on the driveway as I watched the scenes blur together into a ball of mesh. She wasn’t alone, but her husband waited in the car.

Her hand landed like silk on my arm. I could see the veins beneath her thinning skin. A white ball of hair surrounded her head in a wavy afro -- the “old lady haircut,”— my brother and I called it. She was probably in her late 80’s. She watched with me for a moment, but had little interest in the story.

Wow, she can see it too? I thought. 

My focus was on her now. I took her in, I could feel her. She was frail but bright, small but full of energy. A hidden light. She looked at me with with sorrow, with eyes weighed down with regret, weary and tired from her journey. She turned to me, and smiled. With warmth, and love, she said to me, “You don’t want this.”

I looked beyond her at the movie that played out in front of me. It was a pretty nice life. I don’t want this, I confirmed. Even if i did, I don’t need it. I’ve experienced it already.