There is this blissful moment, between dreaming and waking up fully, when it feels like what happened in the dream was real. It’s this moment of fantasy merging with reality, an easy awareness that one of my embarassingly banal anxieties or hopes or fears is relieved–the longed-for family member I met in the dream, the perfect pair of shoes I found, or the object of infatuation I finally, finally kissed. I bathe in the levity and lightness of the dream’s aftertaste. But sometime around when I decide to switch the phone alarm off, turning my consciousness to the motion of the arm, the illusion starts to fade. The facts push their way into my mind–I am in Turkey and that what I dreamed could not possibly have happened–and then they nearly crowd out the content of the dream altogether. All I am left with is the same hunger that inspired the dream in the first place.
I am not going to wake up one morning to find all my aspirations fulfilled. I still have a long journey on the way to living every one of my dreams, and dreaming up new ones. And that is fine with me.
P.S. Speaking of dream fulfillment, one of my apartment-mates is going to teach me how to play ukulele. That’s what I call bitchin’.
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