It was the tail end of one of a series of very vivid, long-form, intricate dreams I've been having basically every night for the last... I don't know. Week? and a half? Anyways, It was just about time for my graduation or something. Some friends and I had been working hard to put on a play, that I'd done a fair bit of the writing on. I had an important introduction and an even more important grand finale (that did some riff's off Hamlets "to be or not to be" speech) that I had done most of the writing for and it was gonna be great.
Except I hadn't memorized my lines.
There was a huge auditorium of people, who were right next door, about to move over to our auditorium, after seeing the graduation of a younger school level of people, and it was show time.
No matter, undaunted, I looked at my master script, that I'd made to work on my lines, but had never gotten around to. It was beautiful and intricate, made out of leather with special ink, and parts of the leather were cut out to hold the individual words, and there were some sections with extra flaps of written on leather for parts that repeated. I could at least use that as a cheat sheet, to help me through the performance if I lost my place.
But suddenly I found that all the words were gone. many of the leather pieces with words on them were missing, leaving holes in the document, and with the rest, the words had just been washed away or something. The show was starting. As the other performers, who all HAD memorized their lines, like, good, responsible team members, covered for me and just went on without the introduction, I desperately but determinedly looked for a printer to print out a copy of the last draft of the script on google docs. It wouldn't be as good, but it would be something.
The printer wasn't working.
I went over to another room and begged the use of their printer. Finally, I had the paper, tucked away, ran back to the performance. I pulled out the sheet to begin last-minute cramming before my fast approaching epic conclusion.
The paper was dirty, worn thin, as if it was thirty years old, and slightly damp, as if I'd been sweating so much that it had gotten through my pockets onto it, and the words were almost entirely gone. Faded, washed away, I don't know.
I was mortified.
With nothing but a few snatches of the emotional gist and some Hamlet in my head, I strode onto the stage, trying to give it all the passion I could muster. Two teachers/mentors I'm currently working with, Teri and Lynne, both extremely accomplished, hardworking and well-prepared, were there, Teri in the audience, watching, Lynne, my co-operating teacher in real life was, I think, the director of the performance in this dream, looking on from the wings. I stumbled and made up what must have been a pretty horrible improvisation, pouring all my intense frustration into the performance to at least give it emotional power.
I was so frustrated. Frustrated at myself for not being prepared, and frustrated at the universe, that was so utterly, unrealistically screwing me over no matter what I tried to do to get prepared. And of course under that was the intense fear and anxiety and shame of going up in front of a bunch of experts whom I know and respect and giving a horrible performance entirely due to my own laxity in preparation. Something I could easily have avoided if I'd just learned my lines ahead of time like everybody else.
I woke up submerged. I was straining my muscles to burrow myself into my mattress, likely to try and dig a hole I could crawl into and expire. Heart pounding, I felt like I'd just had a bucket of water dumped on me, I was sweating so much.
It's been a long time since I've had a nightmare that intense. Normally I can escape or fight the danger. There was so much anger, in the form of frustration. I was trying so hard, and things were working out so badly at every turn. And underneath that anger was the incredible discomfort of being so publicly, shamefully unprepared.
So, this is all to give you an idea of my waking life, because somehow, what I'm going through these days had produced such a dream.
I feel like I am not working hard enough. I am not preparing sufficiently for my tasks at hand. And I'm worried (terrified perhaps, says my subconscious?) that I will be getting my just desserts for this negligence, ergo something like what happened in my dream. I will be found out, and my gross, ungrateful sloth will be displayed for the whole world to see.
Let me give you some perspective here: things are not that bad. I'm doing fine. External observers would not be terribly worried or offended or find my level of negligence unusual. Probably most wouldn't even think to label it negligence.
But like my exquisite soliloquy, I have the potential to create something so good, if I'd just put in that basic preparation... it feels like a deep wrong to not do so.
Being a bit more compassionate to myself, I've got A LOT of stuff on my plate, I'm doing all right at it, and it is exhausting physically, mentally, and emotionally. I'm isolated, which is hard for me, as I really thrive and depend on my close friends and family for the support and connection and warmth that are so vital to my happiness (and which leads to high levels productivity.)
I need to chill out my expectations for myself to a more reasonable and less perfectionistic level. Challenging, but not demoralizingly impossible.
I'm working on self-compassion. Reading some books, practicing talking to myself and backing myself like I'm a dear friend, rather than some #$%hole whose constantly messing up my life.
It's a work in progress.
But in the meantime, at least I can be entertained by some of it, like these dreams, which are hilarious in their... how to say it. Archetypal, melodramatic, almost cliche clarity. I normally have weird dreams. I've certainly had nightmares, but I think this is the first one that would be at home on some 80's daytime TV sitcom.
Here's to all those moments in life when we feel this way:
And to being able to look back at it and laugh our pants off. What else are you going to do about it? Cry? Hide? Life is messy and imperfect and it's all improv. Be kind to yourself, keep on chuggin', and don't take it too seriously.
😉
-I Out
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