When I was pregnant the first time, I had baby boy dreams. We never picked a girl’s name.
I had a baby boy.
I was in college when I woke up the morning of my cousin’s Bar Mitzvah and recalled my dream from the night before, that my history professor was at the service. I told my father about my funny dream, and prompty forgot about it, as we’re apt to do, until the service was over. Until my history professor walked out of the service and said hello.
The night before my ex-husband died I dreamt about life insurance.
I have learned to listen to my dreams.
The trick, though, is remembering our dreams. And that is true for all kinds of dreams, isn’t it?
Dreams take two forms. The kind we’re not in control of that run through our visual psyche as we sleep. Then there’s the kind for which we close our eyes and clench our fists. The dreams for which we hope and plan. The ones that inspire doodles and daydreams and book deals.
And those can be the easiest dreams to forget.
Have you ever forgotten a dream (of any kind) and then remembered it later? What did you do about it?
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